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HIGHWAYS & byway; 



iv m mmmwmmmtmsum 







MOUNTAINS 



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Copyright N"*— 



COPYRIOHT DEPOSIT. 




Pik/s Peak jiotn thf Garden uj the Gods 



HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 

OF THE 

ROCKY MOUNTAINS 






WRITTEN AND 
ILLUSTRATED BY 

CLIFTON JOHNSON 



tr^ 




»^:i — 




Published by THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

Neiu York McMX 



LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED 



Copyright, IQIO, 

by the Macmillan Company. 

Set up and electrotyped. 
Published October, 1910. 



fs^\^ 



AMERICAN 
HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 



THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS 



Electrotyped 

and 

Printed 

by the 

F. A. Bassette Company 

Springfield, Mass. 



a\ '^ 



eCI.A273tii»^ 






HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS OF 
THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS 

INCLUDING 

NORTH DAKOTA 

SOUTH DAKOTA 

NEW MEXICO 

OKLAHOMA 

COLORADO 

NEBRASKA 

MONTANA 

WYOMING 

KANSAS 

TEXAS 

UTAH 

AND THE 

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK 



Contents 



I. When the Fields Turn Green in Nebraska 

II. Historic Kansas . 

III. In Oklahoma 

IV. A Texas Bubble . 
V. On the Banks of the Rio Grande 

VI. Pueblo Life in New Mexico . 

VII. Around Pike's Peak . 

VIII, In the Heart of the Rockies . 

IX. Life in a Mormon Village 

X. Wyoming Days 

XL Mountain and Valley in Montana 

XIL May in the Yellowstone 

XIII. Custer's Last Battlefield 

XIV. Among the Black Hills . 
XV. A Dakota Paradise 



Page 
I 

24 
42 
62 

83 

100 

120 
140 
158 
177 
194 

215 
233 

250 
264 



Illustrations 



Pike's Peak viewed from the Garden of the Gods 




Frontispiece 


Facing Page 


Spring in a Home Field . . . ... . .4 


In the Pigpen .... 










9 


A Cyclone Cellar 










16 


Looking for Gophers 










21 


The First Cultivating 










26 


A Pause in the Day's Work 










31 


Starting His Garden . 










34 


A Dooryard Well 










39 


Talking Business 










42 


An Indian House and the Tepee in the 


Yard 








47 


Evening by the Creekside . 










50 


On the Way to Tovm 










57 


Some of the Tanks among the Derricks 










64 


Neighbor meets Neighbor . 










69 


A Hog Family .... 










74 


On the Hotel Piazza . 










79 


Filling a Cask .... 










84 


An Old Street .... 










87 


Housevpives at their Washing 










92 


In a Country Village 










98 


The Enchanted Mesa 










103 


The Ladders that Give Access to the Upper Stories 




106 


The Governor of the Village 










III 



Illustrations 



An Oven ..... 

The Old Church at Santa Fe 

A Balanced Rock in the Garden of the Gods 

Working on the Road 

Cattle on a Cripple Creek Hilltop 

Sorting over the Old Mine Dumps 

The Farmer and His Helpmate 

Game in Sight .... 

A Placer Miner in a Leadville Gulch 

A Chat on the Highway 

At the Backdoor of an Adobe House 

On the Shore of the Great Salt Lake 

Mormon Maidens 

The Old Settler 

Dove Cotes .... 

A Tent Dweller 

One of the Buttes Beside Green River 

The Fisherman 

In the Mining District of Butte . 

A Pioneer Cabin 

A Problem .... 

A Rural Mail Delivery 

A Terrace of Hot Springs . 

An Upland Brook 

A Geyser Basin 

The Falls in the Canyon 

Cavalry Maneuvers 

The Spot where Custer Fell 

An Indian Home on the Banks of the Little Bighc 

A Waterside Footpath 

A Dancer and a Youthful Admirer 

Panning for Gold 



Illustrations 








xi 


Begging to go Fishing 254 


On a Black Hills Roadway 








259 


A Walk with Grandmother 








262 


Beside the Stream .... 








267 


The Village Cows Starting for Pasture 








270 


Advising the Boys .... 








275 


Dandelions ...... 








278 



Introductory Note 

One of the preceding volumes in this series dealt 
with the Mississippi Valley and another with the Pacific 
Coast. The present book covers the region lying be- 
tween and takes its name from the most dominant 
physical feature of that area. Of necessity its text 
deals both with the mountains and with the great agri- 
cultural states that lie to the eastward, but perhaps 
it is not any the less interesting because of the contrasts 
thus afforded. I have tried to give a fair idea of the 
varied characteristics and attractions of this vast 
territory from Mexico to Canada. 

The several volumes in this series have as a rule 
very little to say of the large towns. Country life is 
their chief topic, especially the typical and the pictur- 
esque. To the traveller, no life is more interesting, and 
yet there is none with which it is so difficult to get into 
close and unconventional contact. Ordinarily, we 
catch only casual glimpses. For this reason I have 
wandered much on rural byways and lodged most of 
the time at village hotels or in rustic homes. My trips 



have taken me to many characteristic and famous 
regions; but always in both text and pictures I have 
tried to show actual life and nature and to convey some 
of the pleasure I experienced in my intimate acquaint- 
ance with the people. 

These "Highways and Byways" volumes are often 
consulted by persons who are planning pleasure tours. 
To make the books more helpful for this purpose each 
chapter has a note appended containing suggestions 
for intending travellers. With the aid of these notes, 
I think the reader can readily decide what regions are 
likely To prove particularly worth visiting, and will 
know how to see such regions with the most comfort 
and facility. 

Clifton Johnson. 

Hadley, Mass. 



Highways and Byways of the 
Rocky Mountains 

I 

WHEN THE FIELDS TURN GREEN IN NEBRASKA 

THE winter was past, and the uncertain days 
of early spring had afforded enough encour- 
agement to make the buds throw off their armor 
of protecting scales and deck the boughs with tender 
new leafage; and the sun in its northward journey 
had coaxed the grass to thrust up many a valiant spear 
through the last year's brown stubble. In the fields 
the farmers were busy ploughing, or were making 
preliminary preparations for it by getting rid of the 
straw stacks, and the cornstalks, which were still stand- 
ing, ragged and withered where they grew. The stalks 
are cut with mowing-machines, gathered into wind- 
rows with a horserake, and burned. The straw stacks 
are burned also, and as you look out from the train 
window at this season in the corn and wheat country 
you see on every hand these little field fires with their 
long trailings of smoke. When evening comes, the fires 



2 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

are still burning, and the red flames impart an eerie 
aspect to the dusky landscape. 

I stopped at Grand Island in the Platte Valley, a 
town that had recently celebrated its fiftieth birthday. 
The region around is typical of the older Nebraska 
farming country. One hundred and sixty acres is the 
size of the usual farm, and the home buildings are 
almost certain to be in a grove of protecting cotton- 
woods that shut off the violence of the winds and are a 
defence against the drifting snows. 

There was something quite charming about the 
grove environment of the homes. Through the trees 
I could glimpse the snug little dwelling, the red barn, 
the windmill, the numerous sheds and corn cribs, and 
a medley of wagons and machines. I heard the domes- 
tic cackle of hens, the crowing of roosters, the cooing 
of doves, and there was perhaps a farmyard pool where 
a bevy of ducks and geese were paddling. Then, too, 
the groves are beloved by the birds. Those little busy- 
bodies, the sparrows, are chirping about the premises 
all the year through; and the robins, larks, yellow- 
hammers and others arrive with the first mild days of 
spring, so that I found the groves delightfully musical. 

At one of the wayside homes where I stopped, the 
woman of the house and several children were raking 
up the cobs that strewed the hard-trodden farmyard, 
and making bonfires of them. The cobs would have 



When the Fields Turn Green in Nebraska 3 

been good to burn in the stove, but they were broken, 
and it was too much trouble to pick them up. They 
are a standard fuel in the region, and are especially 
esteemed for making a hot, quick fire in summer. 
The family had a great bin-full stored for this purpose, 
and they had sold many hundreds of bushels in the 
town at two cents a bushel. In some homes cobs are 
the only fuel, except that in winter a little green wood 
is used with them to make the fire burn more steadily. 

I stayed to dinner with my farmyard acquaintances. 
They were prosperous and lived well, though more 
heartily than delicately. We dined in two detach- 
ments, the men and boys first, and then the feminine 
portion of the household. This was a rather necessary 
arrangement, for the rooms were small and there were 
thirteen children, all of them at home. Excepting the 
very youngest, every member of the family was a worker, 
and the stooping shoulders of some of the lads seemed 
to indicate that they had done too heavy tasks for their 
age in years past. This is a not uncommon phase of 
Western farm life. The children are sacrificed to the 
crops. 

On the sunny side of the house I counted eight cats 
dozing in lazy comfort. They were, however, useful 
members of the household; for without them the rats 
and mice would raise havoc in the stores of grain. 
The boys kept two or three dogs, partly for compan- 



4 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

ionship, and partly to wage war on the gophers and 
rabbits. "Those gophers are a mean animal around 
this country," said one of the youths — "that's what 
they are. They scratch after the corn just when it 
begins to come up, and eat it. Sometimes we kill 'em 
by drowning 'em out. We drowned out one last Sun- 
day. The way we do it is to take a dog along, and he 
smells around and digs, and then you know a gopher 
is in that hole, sure thing. The dog won't get excited 
on any old scent. We pour in water — perhaps two or 
three buckets full — and pretty soon the gopher pokes 
his nose out and starts off. But he's all wet and can't 
run very fast, and we either kill him with a stick, or 
the dog catches him. Sometimes the dogs go hunting a 
gopher alone, and they'll get him, too — ^you bet they 
will, even if they have to dig a hole three or four feet 
deep. 

"The rabbits ain't so bad as the gophers though they 
do considerable damage gnawing the bark of young 
fruit trees. We kill 'em as much as we can. But they 
raise about three bunches of little ones in a season, 
nine to a bunch, and we can't get 'em all." 

The boy's father had taken up the land on which 
he lived thirty-seven years ago. The second year after 
he came, in the middle of April, occurred the worst 
storm in the history of the state. "It caught us un- 
prepared," he said; "for spring had come and we'd 



When the Fields Turn Green in Nebraska 5 

been having nice warm weather. I was at a neighbor's 
when it started, and the first I knew there come a wind 
that blew my hat off. Then I hurried home and got 
the cattle to the sheds. But lots of people left 'em on 
the prairie thinkin' the storm would soon be over. 
The northwest wind was awful, and the cattle drifted 
along before it. There was no fences then to stop 'em, 
and they went into the Platte River and was drowned. 

"The storm lasted three days. It was snow and rain 
and everything mixed together so thick you couldn't 
see. Some of the drifts were six or seven feet deep, 
and our sheds were just blown full, but I made out to 
get to the yard where the cattle were and fed 'em a 
little corn. When the storm was over, most of 'em was 
buried out of sight, except they'd kept their heads 
moving so there was a little place where they could 
breathe. Nearly all of 'em was lyin' down, and we 
had to go to work and dig 'em out. A great many 
birds were killed, and we found several wild ducks and 
a deer dead. The drifts didn't all melt until June. 

"Another bad storm was in January, 1888. We'd 
been shelling corn that morning with the horsepower 
in the yard, and while we was at dinner a big wind 
began to blow and everything got dark. We had to 
light the lamps. I could hardly stand against the 
gale to get to the barn to see to the stock. A good 
many roofs of cow sheds and outbuildings were just 



6 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

straw or hay thrown on, and the wind blew that right 
off. 

"At our schoolhouse the teacher and the twenty or 
more children stayed all night. They had a fire and 
there was lamps that they lit, but they got pretty hun- 
gry before the next day. Some teachers didn't have 
the sense to keep the children, and quite a number of 
little boys and girls was frozen to death trying to get 
home." 

When I left the farmhouse I continued my rambling 
across the low levels until I came to the Platte, a wide 
and rather uncanny looking stream, the bed of which 
showed decidedly more sandbars than water. Indeed, 
it is sometimes spoken of as a mile wide and an inch 
deep. But in June when it is swollen by melting snows 
from the distant mountains it is a wild and swift, 
though still shallow torrent. Gradually the waters 
recede until September, when the flow entirely ceases 
and there is nothing left but sand and stagnant pools. 
It is a treacherous stream to ford, even when the water 
is nearly at its lowest, and a local farmer related 
how he was once crossing on foot and came to a place 
only ankle deep, yet he sank in quicksand above his 
knees and had a hard struggle to get out. 

I did not care to linger long on the river bank, for 
a rude and chilling wind blew that was quite uncom- 
fortable. I wondered that the birds could sing so 



When the Fields Turn Green in Nebraska 7 

blithely, and was in doubt whether it was from enjoy- 
ment or to keep up their courage in the boisterous 
weather. 

The pioneer who led the first band of settlers to the 
region was still living in the vicinity, and one evening 
I called on him. His house was on the far side of a 
thirty-five acre grove, and the approach to it was by a 
winding road through the great trees. The dusk was 
deepening, and the lamp was lighted in the kitchen where 
the family was just finishing supper when I rapped. 
The old settler himself came to the door. "Why 
don't you come in ^ " he said, as if rapping was a needless 
ceremony. 

He was a vigorous, elderly German, whose kindly 
hospitality at once put me at my ease and we were soon 
chatting about his early experiences. 

" It looks like a crazy piece of work, my coming here 
to live," said he. "In my boyhood there was nothing 
to indicate that I was cut out for a frontiersman; but 
some inward power causes young people to go, go, go. 
At first, when I came to America, I settled in Iowa, 
and at the time of the financial panic in 1857 my brother- 
in-law and I were in the mercantile business there and 
failed. We were ten thousand dollars in debt, and it 
was 'Root hog, or die.' But look at this," and he took 
a tiny green bottle from a drawer. "There is the proud- 
est piece of property I've got. In that bottle are the 



8 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

ashes of the notes I gave for my debts; and I made 
all the money to pay those notes right here in this 
wilderness. 

"Some men around where I lived in Iowa were 
interested in starting a town just half way between 
the east and west coasts. They thought that would be 
the place for the national capital. A number of con- 
gressmen were interested, too, and they were far- 
sighted enough to see that a railroad was bound to go 
up the Platte Valley, because that furnished the best 
natural grade for a route across the continent. They 
wanted their town in this valley, and they asked me 
to organize a colony. They were to furnish a surveying 
party and all the grub and arms and ammunition, and 
were to have half the land we took up. Our party 
started in June, 1858. There were thirty-seven of us 
including several women and children. The only 
settlement this side of Omaha was sixty miles east of 
here. To the west was nothing but a few forts. 

"The exact central spot is twelve miles farther up 
the river, but it was a dry year and the land there was 
rather high and had become so parched it didn't look 
as if it was good for anything. In fact, the country 
everywhere, except along the streams, was apparently 
a sort of desert where it seemed as if no one would 
ever be fool enough to settle. Besides, even if the land 
had been all right, a person couldn't in those days 




In the pigpen 



When the Fields Turn Green in Nebraska 9 

have a home far from the streams, because on the open 
prairies there was no wood to burn or to build with; 
and no water unless deep wells were bored, and we 
had no machinery for doing that. But here it was all 
green and nice with quite a little timber along the river, 
and we decided on this for our location. 

"The first thing we did was to cut cottonwoods and 
build four log cabins. They each had two rooms with 
a roofed passage between and were in a group close 
together. We had no boards, and our early roofs were 
either of sods or of slue grass. This slue grass grew 
as tall as a man, and when cut early enough it made 
good fodder — fine! It made excellent roofs, too. 
We'd bind it on with willow withes, and, if well made, 
such a roof would last a lifetime. As soon as the houses 
were done we began to break up the prairie, and some 
sowed buckwheat and got a crop that season. Plenty 
of prairie grass grew in the vicinity, and it was knee- 
high and as thick as could be. With our scythes we 
mowed enough to feed our animals through the winter. 
The next spring I built a log house specially for myself, 
and it is the ell of my present house. You are in one of 
its rooms now. For a while this was rather a lonesome 
country, but in 1859 Pike's Peak was discovered — 
that is, gold was found in the Rocky Mountains. 
People got wild, and train after train of fortune seekers 
passed up the trail, often fifty wagons in a train, and 
they kept going till the railroad was built in 1866. 



10 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

"The second year after I came I wrote to my credit- 
ors, 'If you expect me to settle my debts you must send 
me a mowing-machine, and you must pay the freight 
to Omaha.' 

"They sent it, and I made eight hundred and twelve 
dollars with it the same season. Twelve dollars I kept 
to buy things that were needed at home, and the rest 
I sent to my creditors. The country was getting more 
people in it all the time, and by and by I wrote to my 
creditors, * If you expect me to settle my debts you must 
send me a threshing-machine, and pay the freight to 
Omaha.' 

"You see I forwarded to them all the money I made, 
and so I couldn't pay for the machine or the freight 
either. It cost nearly seven hundred dollars, but they 
sent it, and I made two thousand dollars with it that 
year to lessen my debt. 

"In the winters I trapped beaver, otter and mink, 
and poisoned wolves. Beaver were plenty then, and 
so were the other creatures. I've killed seventy-five 
wolves in a single season. Most of 'em I got right 
around my house with poison. I stumbled onto a very 
good way to make sure of 'em. I'd prepare a number 
of sticks about fifteen inches long, pointed at both ends, 
and I'd cut some meat into inch cubics, one for the tip 
of each stick, and right where the point of the stick 
come through the meat I put some strychnine in a pellet 



When the Fields Turn Green in Nebraska 1 1 

of lard. Next I'd drag a big chunk of buffalo meat 
along the ground to make a trail for the wolves to scent, 
and at intervals on the trail I'd set up my sticks. So 
now I was ready for business. In the night the wolves 
would come and dash along taking the pieces of meat, 
one after another. The lard would melt right away so 
the strychnine would take immediate effect and they 
wouldn't go far. Often I'd find 'em within fifty steps. 
Most settlers would put the poison into the meat and 
leave the meat on the ground. It would kill the wolves, 
but not quickly, and they'd die too far away to be found. 
Then there was no chance to get the hides. I sold the 
coyote skins for about a dollar, but the big gray timber 
wolves brought twice or three times as much. This 
little house has been nailed all over outside with wolf, 
beaver and other skins, and the walls inside hung full 
of the cured hides. 

"My clothing was of buckskin, Indian-tanned, and 
it was warm in winter and cool in summer. Buffalo 
robes were our bedding for many years. The Indians 
would sell us the best of buffalo skins for two or three 
dollars apiece. I have seen thousands and thousands of 
buffalo at one time. You could look around and 
there'd be large herds on every side. The prairie was 
black with 'em. I thought we'd have the finest hunting 
as long as I lived, and my children after me. But pretty 
soon men began to butcher the buffaloes for their hides. 



12 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

and lots of 'em were killed by the emigrants who'd 
shoot 'em with their good-for-nothing rifles, and often 
only cripple 'em. Sometimes the wounded buffalo 
would drag itself away twenty miles before it died. 
So in ten or twelve years all of 'em were gone, and most 
of the other game as well. 

"October was our hunting time. We'd fix up a 
couple of wagons, and I'd drive with one companion to 
the Loop River to stay a month or so. We didn't know 
whether buffalo would be plenty or not, and as soon as 
we had a chance we'd kill any that we could, even if 
they were old fellows. The meat might be tough, but 
it was all good. Later, if we could get younger animals 
we'd throw the tough meat away. We didn't save the 
hides. They were too heavy to carry. The scent of the 
buffaloes we killed would be carried a long distance, 
and it attracted the wolves. At night we'd have to chain 
our horses well to the wagons or they'd break away. 
Hundreds of wolves would gather around, and I tell 
you their howling was a peculiar music. It was enough 
to make a greeny's hair stand on end. First one would 
howl and then the whole lot on all sides. 

"Every winter the Pawnees camped down here on 
the river, and this house has been full of Indians many 
a time. In stormy weather they'd come in here and 
stay all day and tell me everything they knew. Occa- 
sionally two or three would stop over night. My wife 



When the Fields Turn Green in Nebraska 13 

and I would be in our bed at the other side of the room, 
and they'd lie around the stove in the corner. 

"When we came here we were at peace with all the 
Indians around; but I got the company together one 
time and said: 'Now, boys, these wild neighbors of ours 
are certain to give us trouble sooner or later, and I 
would advise that we build a strong fortification to pro- 
tect our families.' 

"Then one of the fellows says: 'He wants us to 
furnish him with a cow stable.' 

"'That's enough,' I said; 'I'll build the fortification 
myself.' 

"So I went to work and made a stout log cabin with 
twenty-five portholes in it and a heavy four-inch door. 
Well, late in the summer of 1864 there was an Indian 
uprising. Everybody was frightened and for twenty 
miles around you could see the dust rising, stirred up by 
the fleeing people with their teams and cattle and dogs 
and cats and all they had. That fellow who'd accused 
me of wanting my neighbors to put up a building that 
would serve me for a cow stable came to me and said: 
'What are you going to do V 

'"I'm too big a coward to run,' I says. 'So I'mgoin' 
to stay right here.' 

"Then he wanted to take advantage of my block- 
house, but I said: 'You're the last man I want in that 
fort. It's too good for you, and you can't stay.' 



14 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

"The other people who Hved near helped pile sods 
outside around the base, and we had a well in a corner, 
and an underground annex where we kept our horses. 
Thirty-five persons stayed in the fort for three weeks. 
A good many scattered settlers were killed, but the In- 
dians didn't attack us." 

My companion paused meditatively a few moments 
and then said: "If it was daytime I'd like to show you 
my apiary. I got my first bees twenty-seven years ago, 
and I spent a good deal of time and money to make good 
quarters for them. My wife did not like what I was doing 
and she got mad. 'This is not a country of flowers,' she 
said, 'and we shall never have a bit of honey on the table.* 

"She kept talking and talking, and at last I says: 
' Mama, you keep to your business in the kitchen, and 
I'll take care of things outdoors.' 

"Night and day I studied about bees till I learned to 
take scientific care of them. By and by I had honey to 
sell, and I increased the number of hives to about forty. 
Those bees have made for me eight thousand dollars, 
and so now my wife likes the bees, too. She is some- 
times a little bit after the dollar herself. 

"The apiary is in a little open space at the edge of my 
grove and near by I have an ornamental garden with 
flowers and vines and arbors. The grove is open to the 
public, and people come to it much to drive or walk 
through. Lovers like to ramble and loiter along its 



When the Fields Turn Green in Nebraska 15 

paths and roadways on Sunday afternoons, and many a 
match has been made there. I set out the first trees 
that were ever set out in this part of the country. They 
were twelve cottonwoods, and I said: 'There are the 
twelve apostles. May they teach forestry in all this 
region.' 

"Those original trees are all gone now. Most of 
them died of old age, but one was destroyed by light- 
ning, and I called that 'Judas Iscariot.' 

" Many things have changed since I came here. Even 
the air is different. It used to be purer and less humid, 
and we'd often see a mirage. While I was still living in 
Iowa a fellow from our town made a journey to Cali- 
fornia, and when he came back he of course had a good 
deal to tell. 'It's hard to believe,' says he; 'but I have 
seen a buffalo, and when I crawled two miles to get to 
it, by jingo! it was a crow.' 

"'Heavens! what a liar that fellow is!' I said to my- 
self. 'He's been to a bad school in California.' But 
when I came here the air played the same tricks on me. 

"The worst setback this state ever had was the grass- 
hopper plague in 1875. The insects came in such num- 
bers they hid the sun. I had six acres of corn — fine 
corn. It was August and the ears had formed, but were 
still soft. In half an hour after the grasshoppers ar- 
rived nothing was left except the stalks. A neighbor 
had a nice field of onions. The grasshoppers began to 



1 6 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

come about noon one day and he said, 'We'll all go out 
and save what we can of those onions.' 

"But his wife said: 'The dumplings are hot. Eat 
dinner first.' 

"So the family sat down and ate, and when they went 
out to rescue the onions the grasshoppers had eaten, too, 
and there were no onions to rescue. 

"The grasshoppers were bad enough in their way, 
but, still more disturbing to my peace of mind was a 
neighbor I used to have. His name was Hefner, and he 
lived just across the highway from my grove. No one 
could be more cussed and mean and sneaking. If 
there's a hell that's where he is now. My brother-in-law 
had some land near Hefner's place that he was breaking 
up one fall, and he used to feed his oxen early in the 
morning so't they'd be ready to work later, and then 
he'd go back to bed. That was his way of doing things. 
He was a good man, but lazy. While he was having his 
nap Hefner would come out and set his dog on the oxen, 
and away they'd go over the prairie. So when my 
brother-in-law got ready to plough he'd have a long 
walk to get 'em. This happened day after day until he 
had some suspicion of what was going on, and my wife 
did, too; but they knew what a firebrand I was, and 
didn't tell me. I would have stopped it just that quick!" 
and he snapped his fingers. 

" Finally my brother-in-law lay in the long grass and 
saw Hefner set his dog on the oxen, and he went to him 




'^ 



When the Fields Turn Green in Nebraska 17 

and told him he'd got to quit that sort of thing. Well, 
there were some other differences between us and Hef- 
ner, and he began circulating stories about us. One 
Sunday afternoon we were having coffee, German 
fashion, when a team with six men in it drove up to the 
house. I went out and invited 'em in to have coffee 
with us, but they said they just come to speak to me and 
my brother-in-law. 'We want to tell you,' said they, 
'that unless you two stop troubling Mr. Hefner your 
days are numbered.' 

"'You rascals, you villains!' I shouted, 'if you will 
wait one minute your days are numbered now!' 

"I ran in after my rifle, but when I came out they 
were lashing their horse to get away. Even then I 
would have had a shot at them, if my people had not 
held my wrists. 

"I spoke about Hefner's dog and the oxen. That 
dog was a constant nuisance, and yet he would have 
been all right if he had had a good master, but Hefner 
was too stingy to feed him, and he was savage and half 
starved. One night I heard a noise and I went out with 
my gun to see what was the matter. Hefner's dog had 
jumped up and got a quarter of antelope I had hung on 
the side of the house about nine feet from the ground. 
He was gnawing it, and when I opened the door he 
began to drag the meat away. 'Gr-r-r!' he said. 

"I took aim with my gun — bum! and there he was. 
Then I went to bed and slept well, and the next morning 



1 8 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

early I dragged the dog over to Hefner's and rapped on 
his window. ' Mr. Hefner,' I said, 'here is your dog, and 
I give you notice that any thief who comes onto my 
premises, whether he has two legs or four, will meet the 
same treatment.' 

"Well, well, that's all past now. How time does 
jump along. My youngest boy was telling me yesterday 
he was forty years old, but I don't believe it; and yet 
he may be right and the years have slipped away faster 
than I could realize." 

The old settler's sincerity and courage, and his bel- 
ligerant attitude toward what was mean and under- 
handed were very attractive, and I enjoyed him and his 
lively description of his experiences so thoroughly that 
I stayed until late into the night and parted from him 
with regret. 

When I left the Grand Island region I went to the 
southern borders of the state. Here was the same pros- 
perity, but the country was somewhat newer than that 
along the Platte, and the houses were not so sheltered 
by trees. Alfalfa is one of the important crops, and as 
the fields are mowed three or four times, haying is al- 
most continuous from early June till the middle of Octo- 
ber. But the Nebraska farmers do not make as hard 
work of haying as the Eastern agriculturists do, and 
the task is largely accomplished with machinery. 

Wealth is the rule rather than the exception, and 
farmers worth twenty thousand dollars or over are not 



When the Fields Turn Green in Nebraska 19 

at all unusual. But evidence of this is seldom seen in 
the style in which they live. You find it instead in the 
big fertile fields. The owners may continue to inhabit 
a cramped and shabby dwelling, wear work-a-day gar- 
ments to town, and drive around in a ramshackle car- 
riage, or in a lumber wagon with an extra spring seat 
put in for the wife or other members of the family to sit 
on when they go too. It is not alone in the country 
that the dwellings are small, for diminutive houses are 
surprisingly plentiful in all the villages. These are, 
however, a matter of preference. " My house is only a 
one-story cottage," said a merchant with whom I talked 
on the subject; "but it's all my wife can take care of. 
There's a doctor lives next door to me who has such a 
big house that he has to keep a hired girl; and his wife 
and that girl are busy all the time. No sooner do they 
get the house hoed out once than they have to begin and 
hoe it out again." 

Not all the farmers own the land they till. Some are 
"renters." As one such man explained the situation, 
the owner of his place "kept the buildings in repair, or 
was supposed to," and paid the taxes and received for 
rental a third of the crop, delivered in market. If the 
season was favorable both parties did well, but he told 
of one dry year when he had fifty-five acres of corn, 
"and there wasn't an ear fit to feed the horses," said he. 
" I snapped off some for the cows and I saved the fodder, 
but it was poor stuff." 



20 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

The man was going to drive to town, and I rode with 
him. It was Saturday afternoon, which has a good deal 
the character of a half-hohday among the farm folk. 
Going to town is their chief recreation, and the place 
was enlivened with many teams, and the stores were 
busy with people bargaining and buying. It is the 
women of the household who do the bulk of the trading, 
and the man sits down on a sidewalk drygoods box and 
waits for someone to come along to talk to him. 

On this particular day there was quite a buzz over an 
incident of the previous evening. It seemed that about 
two years previous a middle-aged Missourian came to the 
village, whose methods of supporting himself were open 
to question. He boarded at the hotel, and though he 
did an occasional honest day's work, it was as a gambler 
that he made a living. Playing poker for money was 
not uncommon among the natives, but he was more 
expert with the cards than they and was the winner in 
the games they played with him to a very dispropor- 
tionate degree. Soon after his advent there began to be 
a series of robberies from the stores. Suspicion fell on 
the Missourian. There was no evidence as to who was 
guilty, but the authorities felt they must make an ex- 
ample of somebody and they got him before the court 
for gambling. He was found guilty and sent to jail. In 
his testimony, however, he implicated so many of the 
townspeople that when he returned to his adopted vil- 
lage his welcome was far from cordial. He had arrived 




Looking for gophers 



When the Fields Turn Green in Nebraska 2i 

the day before, and a crowd got together in the evening 
and told him he must leave town at once. He was de- 
fiant, but after some squabbling they got him to the 
railway station. There he broke away and ran across 
the tracks up the opposite bank. The mob called on 
him to halt, and he drew a revolver and faced them. 
But though they knew he was a desperado they were too 
angry and excited to be stopped and promptly closed on 
him, wrested away the revolver, and a little later put 
him on a train that bore him off in the direction of his 
native state. 

Incidents of this sort were of course exceptional, and 
life as a whole in the region was decidedly placid. Oc- 
casionally the town would make a grand effort and have 
a fair. Street booths were erected wherein the mer- 
chants made novel displays of their wares; acrobats 
were hired to give performances free to the public; and 
there were processions of decorated wagons in which 
rode the pretty girls of the community, and men in 
fancy costumes led the horses. The young and the 
frisky of the crowd bought confetti and threw it at each 
other, and some of them would go so far as to chuck it 
into the faces of the preachers. These fairs were in- 
tended to advertise and boom the town. 

A celebration of a quieter sort was a Sunday-school 
picnic in a grove beside the sluggish creek that wandered 
through the lowlands. Then, too, there were the church 
sociables where cake and ice cream were dispensed. 



22 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

The profits helped pay the minister, and many people 
would go to the sociables who rarely attended church. 

In the winter there was sure to be a variety of public 
entertainments by both local talent and travelling pro- 
fessionals. Once a lecture course was attempted, but 
it was not very successful. The people preferred to be 
amused rather than instructed. They, however, seemed 
to find a peculiar fascination in a rivival. Even if a 
person was not personally drawn into the whirlpool of 
religious emotion, the freakish displays of human na- 
ture that developed were interesting to contemplate. 
One recent evangelist had inveighed strenuously against 
the use of tobacco. Bill Tripp, an inveterate back- 
slider, whose habit it was to get converted in every fresh 
revival, rose in the midst of this exhortation, went to the 
stove, opened the door, and threw in a plug of the weed 
that he took from his pocket. Then he slammed the 
stove door ostentatiously and returned to his seat. The 
heroism and self-sacrifice of this act were appreciated, 
and many another fellow in the audience went and did 
likewise. Their reformation rejoiced the preacher, but 
he did not know that most of them bought a fresh supply 
of tobacco the next day. The use of tobacco was gen- 
eral in the region, and the boys began to smoke quite 
young. Yet they did not indulge in cigarets. These 
cannot lawfully be sold in Nebraska, and the result is a 
feeling that cigarets are rather disreputable anyway. 

On my final evening in this vicinity I went for a walk 
out along the country roads and saw the sun go down 



When the Fields Turn Green in Nebraska 23 

beyond the edge of the vast level sw^eep of the horizon. 
The birds were singing their last songs, the rabbits were 
nibbling along the roadsides, the hens were fluttering 
to roost in the farmyard trees. As I looked about in the 
cool damp of the dusk the fertile prosperity of the region 
impressed me more than ever. How beautiful and full 
of promise it all was! and what I could see was typical 
of most of the great state. 

Note. — "Wherever you can raise wheat, alfalfa, and com, you've 
got the world beat easy," one Nebraska man said to me. That super- 
lative condition is characteristic of a considerable portion of the state, 
and the agricultural prosperity of the commonwealth is a chief reason 
for the traveller's making its acquaintance. There is perhaps no one 
region that excels all others. Much the same scenes and the same 
charms exist in many sections, and likewise in the three neighboring 
states of Iowa, Missouri, and Kansas, which with Nebraska constitute 
"the big four" from the farm point of view. I chose to spend most of 
my Nebraska days in the vicinity of Grand Island, attracted by the 
unusual historic interest of the place. Other visitors would no doubt 
find this region as satisfactory as I did, but they will hardly miss seeing 
some fine country even if they stop at random. 



II 

HISTORIC KANSAS 

IT was only a little while ago that we thought of 
Kansas as a half-parched prairie country where the 
promise of an occasional good year lured the set- 
tlers to their certain undoing later, and where mort- 
gages, hopelessly beyond the power of the farmers to 
pay, were well-nigh universal. This opinion, though 
never altogether fair to the state, was not without con- 
siderable foundation. But now the aspect is decidedly 
different. Good season follows good season, the mort- 
gages have melted away, and Kansas has become one of 
the wealthiest and most productive agricultural states 
in the Union. 

The region with which I became best acquainted is 
that about Lawrence on the Kansas River. Lawrence 
attracted me because of its New England ancestry and 
its troubled history in the anti-slavery struggle. The 
town itself might almost be a bit of Massachusetts, for 
Massachusetts people have moulded it and are still pre- 
dominant in its life; and the tidy comfort and generous 
size of the homes, the tree-shadowed streets and trim 
lawns, and the repose and air of refinement that have 
come with the passing years are quite delightful. 



Historic Kansas 25 

When I wandered out into the country I found that 
similarly pleasing, and the homes were as a rule, com- 
modious and shadowed by fine oaks and maples. Re- 
cent timely rains had given the soil a thorough soaking, 
the wheat and alfalfa and grass were all growing bravely, 
the potatoes were thrusting up into view, and the gardens 
were beginning to yield the earliest of their table 
delicacies. 

Everywhere I saw workers in the fields toiling back 
and forth with their ploughs and harrows and planting- 
machines. It was a busy time, and yet I always found 
the workers ready to stop and chat with me. They were 
vigorous, capable fellows for the most part, who were 
satisfied with their condition and even enthusiastic over 
it; for they were prospering and the future looked 
bright with promise. As one native remarked : " There's 
money in farming here, and good money, too. These 
panics we hear about don't worry us any. They are 
Eastern affairs caused by the financial bullies of New 
York, Prices have been awful big for farm crops and 
we're all right. This ten-acre potato field I'm at work 
in I've rented from a man who lives in town, and I'll 
tell you the God's truth — the first year I raised potatoes 
on this ground I made a hundred dollars an acre. But 
the next year potatoes were a drug on the market, and 
lots of 'em never was dug. I sold three hundred bushels 
at eight cents a bushel. I usually dig about the middle 
of June, and then put the land into rye. That grows 



26 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

big enough so I can let the farm creatures run in it all 
winter. Last winter I turned into this field fifteen hogs, 
five head of cattle and two or three horses. It didn't 
cost me hardly a dollar for any other feed, and the 
animals come through just as fat as could be. If I 
didn't sow the land to some crop, after the potatoes were 
out, the crab grass would sprout up in a few weeks as 
thick as the hair on a dog's back, and don't you forget it! 

" I used to have a grocery in the village near the river, 
but that flood in 1903 swept everything away as clean 
as a whistle. I never thought of its coming up to where 
my store was, and I didn't attempt to move out any 
goods. Yes, it took the building and left a hole four- 
teen feet deep. That was fierce. At my house matters 
wa'n't much better. The water was up in the second 
story, and when it went down the plastering come ofi^ 
and the furniture fell to pieces. I'd bought a new sur- 
rey and a single buggy a little while before and the 
flood took those. Oh, it just naturally destroyed all I 
had. But now I'm through with the grocery business, 
and I wouldn't go back to it. In a store you're every- 
body's lackey. This is a much more independent life, 
and it pays better, too. Yes, sir, farming is good enough 
for me." 

I repeated the ex-groceryman's remarks to another 
local farmer. "I'll tell you right now," said he, "that 
you couldn't run fast enough to give me the best grocery 
store in Lawrence. I used to be a bookkeeper in a 




Mi, 



^ 



Historic Kansas 27 

railroad office and had to leave because of poor health, 
but I wouldn't take my old job again under any circum- 
stances. Besides, I've got my children to think of, and 
the town's no place for them. 

"I make a specialty of vegetables, and it's been in- 
teresting learning how to handle 'em just right. I 
haven't got it all learned yet, and wouldn't if I lived to 
be two or three hundred years old. But there's no one 
around here doing any better with garden truck than I 
am. When we have a fair in town I take the largest 
space and make the finest show. I got a hundred and 
sixty-two dollars last year in premiums, and a seed man 
gave me twenty-five dollars for the privilege of hanging 
a sign over my display saying that the things was raised 
from his firm's seed. They weren't, but 'twas a good 
advertisement for him. 

"The year of the flood I lost four acres of stuff and 
thought myself lucky to lose no more. Most of the land 
around lay lower than mine, and a good many of the 
neighbors had their entire crops ruined. The flood 
come about the first of June, and we'd never known 
anything like it. The Indians told of a similar flood in 
1844, but the whites had lived here fifty years and seen 
nothing of the sort, so we didn't believe the Indians 
told the truth. When I saw the water spreading all over 
everywhere I drove my stock to the hills and took my 
family along. But we was soon back, and everything 
I raised sold for big prices the season through. 



28 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

"That flood didn't begin to be as serious to me as a 
hailstorm we had early in the summer two years ago. 
Three men I'd hired by the day had been helping me, 
and we'd just got the garden cleaned up of weeds. It 
was six o'clock and time to quit and they was starting 
for home. But I said: 'The clouds look pretty black 
and we're goin' to have a bad storm. You better come 
in my cave a little while with me and my family.' 

"So we all went to the cave and stayed till the storm 
was over. It destroyed every crop I had, and farther 
up the valley it was a real cyclone that took the bark off 
the hedges and blowed the buildings to smithereens. 
One man there was laughed at by his family for bein' 
afraid, because he wanted 'em to go to their cave when 
the storm was approaching. He went alone, and he never 
saw any of the others alive. The storm took the whole 
outfit. The cyclones do some funny things. I knew of 
a baby that was carried half a mile and dropped in a 
graveyard without bein' hurt a bit. Another queer case 
was that of a fellow who was landed in the top of a tree 
with his leg broken. He lived, but he was never good 
for much afterward. There's a story, too, of a family 
that had started to run from the back door to their cave 
when a cyclone picked 'em up and whirled 'em off for 
nine or ten miles. They didn't happen to hit any steeples 
or trees or buildings, and pretty soon were dropped 
down right where they'd started from, out of breath, 
but all safe and sound. The minister heard of their 



Historic Kansas 29 

escape and come and congratulated 'em, and he ended 
up by shaking hands with the man and saying: 'Brother, 
the Lord was with you.' 

"'Well, if He was,' the man replies, 'all I can say is 
that He was a-goin' some.' 

" Most everyone on the bottoms has a cyclone cellar. 
It ain't such a necessity on the uplands; for the air up 
there don't get heated as it does here and is much less 
apt to start swirling. Our cyclones are electrical storms 
with lots of thunder and lightning, and the noise and 
the flashes are so near when the storm passes over that 
it seems like as not you'd get hit. I've always took my 
family to the cave when I thought there was any danger; 
and if I'm in town and the weather looks threatening 
I'll telephone out and caution 'em to keep watch and go 
to the cave in time." 

The man showed me the vegetables he was raising 
on his land, and the hotbeds where he had started 
sprouts for three acres of sweet potatoes. "And now," 
said he, when the tour was completed, "come into the 
house and hear a tune on my graphophone." 

So he ushered me into his tiny parlor where I sat and 
listened to the music. When this entertainment was 
concluded, he resumed work and I betook myself to the 
highway. Just down the road was a "traveller's" 
family sitting at the foot of a great Cottonwood tree eat- 
ing dinner, and close by was their canvas-covered 
wagon. Two mules and a horse were hitched to the 



30 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

wheels and they were munching a feed of corn, or nib- 
bhng the grass. I stopped to have a talk with this 
nomad household, and the man said: "I been in Okla- 
homa for six years where I had a quarter section of 
government land. We're goin' back now to where I 
used to live in Missouri." 

"Travelling like this ain't very pleasant," remarked 
the woman. " It's too dirty for me." 

"Yes, and the children get uneasy and go to fighting," 
the man added. "Some days are pretty hard on all of 
us. We can get up and start of a morning, and if the 
roads are good go forty mile easy. But yesterday the 
roads was bad, and it was hot, so my team was tireder 
after thirty mile than they'd been any day before. 
There are regions where travellers can't always get 
water, but we don't have any trouble thataway around 
here. Sometimes when we are ready to stop toward 
evening we'll run onto a man who ain't got no hay, and 
we'll have to drive a little longer'n we really like to in 
order to buy feed. We stop most anywhere that night 
finds us, right side of the road, and tie the mules and 
horse to the wheels. They do jam around a good deal, 
but we've got used to that. We sleep in the wagon. 
The boys have a place under the seat, and the rest of us 
settle down in the back part." 

The farmers of the region did not have much liking 
for the travellers. "They are just that class of people 
who want to live without work," one man informed me. 




A pause in the d(i\ s ivark 



Historic Kansas 31 

"Of course, some of 'em are all right; but a good many 
just start out in the fall and live on the country. They 
pick lots of corn along the roadsides to feed their horses, 
and never buy nothin' if they can help it. Everything 
is convenient for 'em, and they'll take potatoes and 
cabbages and fruit and once in a while pick up a chicken. 
This is a main travelled road, and I've seen the same 
wagon go west one week and east the next, and you 
find some of 'em goin' the year around. There'll be a 
man and wife and three or four little children, and 
they'll send the young ones in to the houses beggin'. 
The children'll tell you their father's sick and the like 
o' that, and yet the father may be a big stout man with 
nothin' the matter of him but laziness. Oh, I know 
that to be a fact. There was once some of those children 
got a basket of potatoes and things of my wife, tellin' 
her their father wa'n't able to work; but I'd seen the 
family by the roadside, and he would weigh two hun- 
dred pounds and was takin' care of the horses. He was 
abler to work than I am. I made up my mind that the 
next time such a story was told I'd go out to the wagon 
and see if the old man really was sick. I've never 
knowed of any of 'em stoppin' to work. They could 
get a job if they wanted it. No one need holler for work 
in this country. Offer it to 'em, even at the top price, 
and them fellers'll claim they ain't able to work. They 
mostly disappear in the winter, and I reckon they go 
south like the ducks and geese to where it's warm. 



32 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

"Do you see all these loads of hay goin' to town on 
this road ? It's prairie hay. There's lots of that wild 
hay cut — oh, land, yes! Probably twenty or thirty tons 
pass here every day. We raise good hay, both the wild 
and what is grown on the cultivated fields; but we 
ought not to store so much of it in stacks. Barn hay 
always brings a better price, and there's more money 
lost in Kansas every year by having hay spoiled or hurt 
in the stacks than we would need to spend to build 
barns to shelter it. We've had good seasons ever since 
1 90 1, but that year the weather was so dry at harvest 
time she pretty near burnt us out — you bet she did! I 
was fighting fires in the wheat fields for seven days and 
five nights. The fires would start from the railroad 
engines. So, to prevent further trouble, the railroads 
hired teams to turn a furrow one hundred and fifty feet 
from the rails on each side, and burnt off all between 
the two furrows for a fire guard. They burnt off an 
awful sight of wheat that way, but they paid for it." 

Across the road a man was ploughing, and he had 
paused to give his panting mules a rest. "Where's 
your boss?" my acquaintance called out. "I ain't 
seen him around this morning. I thought he'd be out 
here to cuss the mules, anyway." 

"They need it," responded the ploughman. "These 
mules are contrary, and you have to keep your eye on 
'em all the time. We had a good pair last year, but the 
boss sold 'em. He's the darndest man that way ever you 



Historic Kansas 33 

see. He'll swap or sell any creature he's got, right on 
the road, if he meets anyone that wants to dicker with 
him." 

A crop of " cane " had been raised on the field the year 
before. "It's a kind of sorghum," the man explained, 
"and it makes awful nice feed. We raise it for our 
cattle, but it's so sweet I believe this 'ere would be all 
right for manufacturing sugar. The stalks grow eight 
or ten feet high — every bit of it. We saved a powerful 
lot of seed last fall and would have got more if it hadn't 
been for the English sparrows. They're the worst 
thing on earth for seed — them birds. There's lots of 
'em around every farmhouse, and you've got to keep 
all the holes stopped up or they'll be building their nest 
into 'em. They drive away the other birds and are too 
blamed lazy to hunt for food, and they pay no attention 
to the bugs and worms. When you feed a mess to your 
farm animals they eat it up for you, and they'll light on 
your apple trees and pick a little small hole in nearly 
every apple." 

The field in which the ploughman was at work was 
fenced with a thorny osage hedge, which he had trimmed 
and adjusted during the winter so that it was "hog 
tight." "There ain't nothing can go through that now," 
he affirmed; "but a hedge is no good, by gosh! unless 
you take care of it. You need to trim it two or three 
times a year so as to keep it branching, and you've got 
to mow the weeds alons the sides. That there little 



34 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

green stuff you see comin' up in bunches near the hedge 
is wild catnip. It is a good deal the same as tame catnip 
that grows in the gardens, only it'll get up as high as 
your head in summer, and unless you cut it the shade 
will kill out the lower branches on the hedge. Some 
farmers let the hedge alone until it's grown stalks big 
enough to cut for wood and for posts. We think hedge 
wood is equal to coal, and a hedge post will outlast one 
of stone. Hedges are at present the commonest kind of 
fencing here, but they are being gradually rooted 
out. They take up too much room, and they sprout up 
from the roots and keep crowding into the field all the 
time, if they're neglected." 

The ploughman now resumed his work and I plodded 
on along the highway. About noon I stopped at a house 
and asked for the privilege of staying to dinner. It was 
not quite ready, but, as usual, I was welcome, "if I 
would be satisfied with what they had," and I sat down 
on the piazza where a lively small boy entertained me. 
He pointed toward a near-by tree and said: "Do you 
see the nest in that tree ? There's eggs in it, I betcher. 
We got a pie-aner. That's my sister you hear playing 
it. She learned how to play it at the high skewl." 

He sang snatches of the song she was playing, and 
then held up for my inspection the dry discarded shell 
of a big beetle which he had in his hand. "It's a sizzery 
bug," said he, poking it meditatively. 







Starting his aarJen 



Historic Kansas 35 

Something snapped and he exclaimed: "Well, I'll be 
dog-goned if I didn't shot one of his bones out!" 

Just then the boy's father happened along and re- 
marked: "That's a dry weather fly. They make a 
kind of a funny noise buzzing with their wings. So the 
kids call 'em sizzery bugs. We see 'em around most all 
summer, but they don't do any harm that I've ever 
heard anybody say." 

The housewife now called us in to dinner. It was a 
substantial and palatable meal, and one of the table 
delicacies was white clover honey from hives in the 
yard. "We had a swarm come out on Sunday," said 
the woman, "and I told my husband I guessed the 
weather was broke. Anyhow, it's been nice ever since, 
and before that it was cold and disagreeable." 

After we finished eating I asked how much I owed, 
and when the woman answered rather doubtfully with- 
out naming an amount I handed her twenty-five cents; 
but she said fifteen cents was enough and wanted to 
give me the difference. 

During my afternoon ramble I stopped at one of the 
humbler wayside homes to ask for a drink of water, and 
a tall young man in overalls said he would draw some 
fresh from the well in the yard. The well opening, 
which was even with the ground, was covered by a few 
loose boards, and the water was obtained by kneeling 
and lowering a tin pail into its cool depths. Several 
rods intervened between the well and the house — a 



36 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

weatherbeaten Httle structure that had never been 
painted. The barn was scarcely more than a shed, but 
was supplemented by a cattleyard with a gigantic fence 
of zigzag rails. Black pigs of various sizes wandered 
about, free to go where they pleased, and the cows were 
grazing in the highway. The young man and I sat 
down for a chat on the borders of a mountainous pile of 
wood that was near the back door sawed and split ready 
for burning. He said "Dad" was a "fifty-sixer," by 
which he meant that his father had arrived in Kansas 
not later than 1856, when the struggle between the sup- 
porters of slavery and abolition ended in the election of 
a free-state legislature. "If you want to know anything 
about those times he's the person to tell you," my com- 
panion explained. "Some of 'em — their memory fails 
'em; but that ain't so with Dad. He'll give you straight 
goods right from the word go." 

The old man was baiting cows and, with the help of 
three dogs, seeing that they did not stray too far. He 
presently came hobbling along on his cane and sat down 
with us. In age and appearance he was a genuine 
patriarch, one of the earliest pioneers. "When I first 
got here," said he, "people was comin' in lookin' at the 
country, but it was quite a number of years before they 
began to take up land. I worked on the old California 
Trail freighting. Now and then I'd see a buffalo 
skull on the prairie, but the buffaloes themselves were 
gone and the hunting was nothin' extra. There were 



Historic Kansas 37 

wild turkeys, and a sprinkling of deer, and plenty of 
coyotes; and you can tell the people back East that we 
have coyotes here now that do lots of damage. I hear 
'em howlin' every few nights. 

"Plenty of trees grew along the river, but as soon as 
you got out of the bottoms there wasn't a stick any- 
where. It was bare as could be — all prairie, and the 
most desolate lookin' country in the world. After the 
frosts came in the fall the grass was as dry as a powder 
house and the Injuns set fire to burn it off and run the 
game into the timber. Me 'n' three other fellers come 
pretty near gettin' caught in a prairie fire once. We 
seen it far off, but we didn't think of any danger. By 
and by we was goin' down hill and the big freight wagons 
made so much noise we didn't notice anything unusual 
until we heard a roarin' and looked back and saw the 
fire almost on us. Oh, my goodness! it was awful! I 
hollered that we was goin' to be burnt up, and jumped 
off to see if I could start a fire on the other side of the 
road. The first match caught and the fire spread from 
that on ahead of us as fast as a horse could run. We 
drove onto the burnt ground ]ust in time to save our- 
selves from the fire behind. 

"I took a claim over in the timber about two miles 
from here in 1854 and built me a log cabin with a stone 
chimney and a big fireplace. There wa'n't another 
house to the north for fifty miles. Not long afterward 
the settlers begun to come in rapid. Lawrence was the 




.7 (loorvnrJ n'rll 



Historic Kansas 39 

country. They claimed to be on the Union side, and 
they'd raid down into Missouri and pretend that what 
they stole was got from the rebs. But it didn't make 
any difference who they robbed. If a man had property 
he was their meat. There were cutthroats on both sides 
in that war. By and by thirteen hundred guerrillas 
come into Lawrence one August morning about sun- 
rise. A company of colored troops was bein' recruited 
here, and the raiders begun shootin' them, and they 
killed citizens, too — one hundred and fifty persons in 
all. They broke open the safes in the banks and stores 
and got a lot of money, and they burned about three- 
fourths of the town buildings. 

"One of the persons they particularly wanted to 
shoot was the chaplain of Lane's regiment — a man 
named Fisher. He was a pretty thrifty fellow. When 
he was movin' around with the troops over in Missouri 
he'd gather up mules, which he'd send here and later 
sell to the government. Once when they was in a rebel 
town Colonel Lane come across him lookin' up at the 
steeple on a church and asked him what was the matter. 

"'I was just thinkin' how nice that spire would look 
on my new church back in Kansas,' he says. 

"'Take it right along, Brother Fisher; take it right 
along,' says the colonel. 

"Well, Fisher was in his house there at Lawrence, 
and the raiders knew it, but they couldn't seem to find 
him. His wife had hid him away somewhere in the 



40 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

cellar. They give up searchin' and said they was goin' 
to burn the house, and Mrs. Fisher asked if she could 
get out some of the furniture first. They said she could, 
and she managed to put him in some carpeting and 
rolled him out of reach of the fire and piled chairs and 
things on top so't the raiders never had any idea of the 
trick she'd played 'em. 

"I lived over by the crick then, and I'd be livin' there 
now, only the man who ov/ned this farm put at me for 
a trade — half of my place for his eighty here. His'n 
didn't suit him because it hadn't no wood on it. This 
is a pretty good farm except that we sometimes run 
skurce of water. But there's wells within a mile that 
never fail, and we don't have the dry weather we used 
to have, so we hain't hauled any water for six or 
seven years." 

While we talked, the cattle had strayed, and the old 
man now turned to his son and said: "Them cattle won't 
stay nowhar. Just go down the road and head 'em off 
and run 'em in. The3^'ve e't enough." 

This brought my visit to an end, and I wended my 
way toward the town. It was a day of unusual warmth 
for the season, and one of my local acquaintances had 
remarked that, "When the weather gets so sultry it 
generally winds up with a clap." Sure enough, that 
night the wind roared threateningly about the hotel and 
the rain fell in torrents, while the artillery of the heavens 



Historic Kansas 41 

flashed and crashed in wild menace. But in the morn- 
ing the sun smiled down on the drenched earth, and 
Kansas rejoiced, for the rain had made abundant crops 
increasingly certain and bestowed still more wealth on 
the wide realm of this great state's thrifty husbandmen. 

Note. — Kansas has comparatively little scenic attraction, except 
the pastoral charm always associated with rich-soiled, well-cultivated 
farmlands. This agricultural charm is nearly universal; but the 
eastern portion is perhaps best worth seeing, for there one finds a 
repose that only comes with age, and a humanized touch in the land- 
scape which is conferred by long association with mankind delving in 
the soil and making permanent homes. Then, too, this eastern sec- 
tion has seen a stirring past, and it is a pleasure to recall the v;ild in- 
cidents of the anti-slavery struggle, and of the Civil War in the vicinity 
where those events occurred. 



Ill 

IN OKLAHOMA 

ON the train that carried me into Oklahoma I 
made the acquaintance of a citizen of the state 
who proceeded to enhghten me as to the nature 
of the country to which I was journeying. The cHmate 
was superlatively healthy, the winters were not very 
cold nor the summers very hot, the crops were always 
bountiful, everybody with an atom of thrift was pros- 
perous, and in character and intelligence the people 
were the pick of the world. 

"Why," said I, "Oklahoma is going to be one of the 
finest states in the Union, isn't it V 

"No," he responded, "it isn't going to be — it is now;" 
and he went on to tell how progressive the state was, 
and praised the excellence of their laws, and declared 
that they enjoyed all the comforts that could be had 
anywhere. He even affirmed that the wind was partial 
to Oklahoma, and was seldom otherwise than gentle. 
In his enthusiasm I suppose he exaggerated somewhat. 
At any rate I cannot endorse his statement as to the 
wind, for during a considerable portion of my stay it 
was blowing like the mischief, and filling the air with a 
gritty dust. One entire day it held me an indoor prisoner 




Talkinsr business 



In Oklahoma 43 

at Kingfisher, in the central part of the state. The gale 
kept up a constant rattling and banging, even rocking 
the three-story brick hotel I was in, and its fiercer gusts 
seemed to threaten to sweep things away altogether. 

However, there were other less boisterous days when 
I contrived to do a good deal of rambling. Vegetation 
was more than a month in advance of that in the north- 
ern states. Roses were blooming in the gardens, and 
the locust trees, which abounded both in the town and 
about the farmhouses, perfumed the air with their 
pendent clusters of blossoms. The wheat was knee- 
high and billowy in the breeze, the corn was up, and 
the cotton had been planted. 

The newness of the country was not so apparent as I 
expected. There are many Oklahoma towns still raw 
and forlorn, but Kingfisher could boast of frequent sub- 
stantial business blocks among the other slighter struc- 
tures, and its dwellings had lawns and shrubbery and a 
goodly showing of fair-sized shade-trees. Roundabout 
the town the land rose and fell in long sweeps with an 
occasional more sudden dip into a gully. The roads 
were monotonously straight, and the turns were always 
abrupt right-angles at the corners of the sections. Where 
the roads crossed a hollow the mud had washed in from 
the fields, and where they were on rising ground the 
rains had worn deep ruts. The space between the 
barbed wire fences that divided the fields from the high- 
way was still the original prairie, and when a track be- 



44 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

came very bad the teams simply started another to the 
right or the left. In the pastures were numerous herds 
of grazing cattle, and nearly every farmer had a drove 
of hogs browsing in an alfalfa field. 

One doubtful morning I accosted an old negro who 
was fishing on the wooded banks of a muddy creek and 
asked him if it was going to rain. 

"You'll have to ask God," was the reply. "He 
knows. I don't." 

That a fisherman should have no opinion as to the 
weather seemed to me strange, but I soon found out 
that this ancient darkey fished every day from morn till 
night; and whether the skies smiled or frowned made 
no difference to him. What he caught was the principal 
part of his food, and often he secured enough so that he 
could sell a few pounds. 

Shortly after I left him a shower made me seek shelter, 
and I stopped at a snug little farmhouse with quite a 
charming front porch covered all across, except the 
entrance, by a flowering vine. The tall gray farmer was 
presently telling me his experiences. "This is a good 
country," said he, "when there's a sufficient rainfall in 
the crop-growing season. But we been knocked out 
two or three times by havin' it too dry. Another time 
we had the green bug. Eighty acres of wheat and oats 
that I'd put in never yielded a grain of anything. I 
first noticed trouble in March. The wheat was turning 
yellow, and I looked and see it was covered with little 



In Oklahoma 45 

green bugs. They jis' sucked the life out of it and left 
it lookin' as if there'd been a drouth. 

" I'm one of the first settlers in this region. The 
country here was opened up on April 22d, 1889. About 
two miles west of Kingfisher was the boundary, and it 
was marked with posts and guarded by mounted sol- 
diers. Nobody was supposed to cross the line until the 
appointed time, but some did. We called them "soon- 
ers," and their claims were no good if their early start 
could beprovedon 'em. Quite a number of 'em had to go 
to the pen for swearing falsely. People come from allover 
to get a chance at this new land — and quite a few women 
come as well as men. They were arrivin' for a week 
beforehand and camped close by the line in tents or 
lived in their covered wagons, and they brought their 
ploughs and everything all ready to go to work. 

"Twelve o'clock was the hour that the race was to 
begin. We was there along the line ready, dozens 
deep, and everybody was goodnatured and jokin' and 
singin'. The crowd was plumb thick where I was be- 
cause it was opposite a town site. Up and down as far 
as we could see was the soldiers settin' on their horses 
at regular intervals, and when the time come they gave 
the signal by firin' their revolvers. Then we all rushed 
forward as tight as we could go. You could take your 
pick and have any one hundred and sixty acres you 
wanted if you got it first. I was on foot and only run a 
little way, but most were on horseback or muleback. 



46 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

When I stopped I stood and watched the others going 
on toward the town site under the whip jis' Uke a horse 
race. Oh, my stars! how they run! Most generally 
each man took a spade with him, and as soon as he de- 
cided he'd reached as good a piece of land as he was 
likely to get he'd jump right off and go to diggin' to 
throw up a little mound. On top of that he'd stick up a 
shingle with his name on it. Then he'd go back to 
camp, hitch up his team, and take it to his claim and 
begin ploughing. But perhaps by the time he got there 
he'd find someone else ploughing on that land. There 
was a fuss then, sure. Often two or three would get on 
the same claim and tear down each other's signs, and 
they might keep on till they got into a shooting scrape. 

"The next day the land office opened, and we began 
to file our claims. When I got there considerable of a 
line had already formed and I had to take my place at 
the end and wait my turn. I stood there from morning 
till night, and it was terribly windy, dusty and hot. 
Fellers come around carryin' grub to us, and we'd buy 
and eat it without leavin' the line. A long file of us was 
still waiting when the land office closed for the day, and 
some, in order not to lose their places, camped right 
where they were. 

"Those that did the best in the rush were the ones 
that got the town lots. They made a good thing. But 
I knew one old fellow who said he'd picked out the best 
site in town and intended to start a hotel, and when they 




^ 



In Oklahoma 47 

surveyed he found his claim was right in the middle of a 
street so he had to move. There were lots of disputes 
for the courts to settle between parties on the same 
claim. 

"I had trouble about my claim with a widow who 
seemed to think she was on it first. She was a very nice 
old woman, and people joked considerable because I 
was a widower, and they said our dispute could be fixed 
up all right. But I got out. 

"As a whole, the newcomers were a good respectable 
class of people, and yet there were some pretty tolerable 
rough ones. A horse thief took this claim that I'm on 
now; but in a little while he sold out, stole what he 
could, and left. There ain't only a few of the old settlers 
that have stayed in the region. Most of 'em have gone, 
and many places have changed hands three or four 
times. 

"Grub at first was most awful scarce, and we was 
too late the first year to raise much except turnips and 
watermelons and kaffir corn. But those turnips was 
the biggest I ever did see. We fed 'em to our chickens, 
fatted our hogs with 'em, and made slaw to eat ourselves. 
The railroad hadn't been built, and all our supplies 
were freighted in on wagons. Times got so hard lots of 
men was discouraged. If a feller come along and 
offered one hundred, one hundred and fifty, or two 
hundred for a claim, the owner would very likely sell 



48 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

and go back to his wife's people. But after we got our 
first crop we began to live and get ahead. 

"I don't like the winter here. It's too chilly and 
rainy. Then in the summer the weather is apt to get so 
terribly hot we can hardly stand it. I shall always re- 
member the second of May, 1892. I saw three cyclones 
that day, and the last one I saw a little too plain. I'd 
been to town for a load of lumber, and the air was so 
red hot, I said to myself: 'A storm'll come up after 
this!' Oh, it was jis' so hot it almost burned me. Our 
cows was in a corral down by the stream, and toward 
night my hired man said it was time to go and milk 'em. 

"'I don't like the looks of the clouds,' I said, 'and I 
ain't goin' away from the house, but if you want to do 
the milkin' go ahead.' 

"So he went along, and I stood right in the yard 
watchin' the clouds. Pretty soon I see 'em comin' to- 
gether from all directions about a mile south of us, and 
I run to the house and told the folks we was goin' to 
have a cyclone and they'd better get out. The safest 
place I knowed of was a stable I'd dug about four feet 
down into the ground. It was roofed over with sticks 
and there was hay thrown on to shed the rain. We got 
into a corner of that, and I said to my oldest son who 
was man-grown: 'We'll stand over the balance of 'em 
to kind o' protect 'em.' 

"Then the storm passed above us with a roarin' noise 
like a train, and the only harm it did to the stable was 



In Oklahoma 49 

to flop the hay from the north end onto the south end. 
There wa'n't no time to think, it was all over so much 
quicker than anything else that happens. I run out 
and looked around, and there was no house nor any- 
thing else hardly left. The hottest kind of air had come 
from that cyclone, and I was nearly suffocated with it. 
In the distance I could see the storm goin' off, and it 
was plumb black. Three miles from here it struck a 
house and killed a boy; and not far beyond there it 
broke loose from the ground. A feller who happened 
to be near by, and who had run into a patch of willows 
to save himself, said it went up with a whistle jis' like 
a steam engine. 

" I told you how my hired man started to go to milk 
the cows. About the time he got to the pasture the 
wind come and knocked down a big sorrel horse that 
was close beside him; but the horse wa'n't hurt and it 
got up and run off across the field. The man saved him- 
self by ketchin' hold of a little ellum tree, and he held 
on until the worst was over. Then he hurried to see 
whether we'd escaped. The house was tore all to pieces 
and nothin' was to be found of it but splinters. I had a 
right new wagon in the yard that I hadn't used more'n 
six months, and one of the tricks of the cyclone was to 
take that wagon a mile up on the prairie, where it was 
dropped with the iron parts all twisted up and the 
wooden parts all broke to bits. At the corner of my 
house stood a barrel of salt with a harness layin' on it. 



50 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

Well, sir, the cyclone left the harness there in a pile on 
the ground, but took the barrel of salt and broke it up 
and scattered it all around. Near the barrel I had a hen 
and twenty chickens in a coop, but only one chicken 
escaped. Such a storm will sometimes snatchthe feathers 
all off of a hen. I've got a cyclone cellar now, and we 
don't take any chances. When we see a storm comin' 
up toward night on a hot day we jis' go in there for a 
while." 

I ate dinner at the old settler's and had an excellent 
repast that was not at all in need of the housewife's 
apologies for its shortcomings, except in the matter of 
milk and butter. It seemed that wild onions abounded 
in the pastures at this season and were much to the lik- 
ing of the cows. As a result the milk was strongly 
flavored, and the butter was neither good butter nor 
good onions. 

"We've sometimes thought we'd like to sell out;" 
remarked the woman, "but when we wanted to sell we 
couldn't, and when we could sell we wouldn't. I was 
tellin' my daughter yesterday, says I: 'I'm ready to 
move any time your paw is.' Don't you know, people 
get awful tired of living at one place; but law! you lose 
more in travellin' around than you gain." 

"The Germans are buying up a good many of the 
farms hereabouts," said the man, "and it don't take 'em 
long to pay for a place." 




hvtniiio li\ the creekside 



In Oklahoma 51 

"Well, and that's no wonder," commented the wo- 
man. "They all work like dogs to get ahead — the 
whole family, even the little tots no more than knee- 
high to a duck. The children will drive the cattle three 
or four miles, may be, to pasture, and the girls'U haul 
to town and work in the fields. Them girls have a 
whole lot better health, too, than American girls, be- 
cause they're so much out in the air; and the women — 
see how tough and hardy they are! I've heard tell that 
Dutchmen wa'n't good to their wives, but that's a mis- 
take. Their women would rather do field work than 
not, and are often as much the boss of the farm as the 
men. The American people are gettin' lazier and 
lazier, and the women never think of working outdoors. 
German girls will do all that a young man of their age'll 
do except the heavy muscular work. You'll find 'em 
out every day driving the ploughs and harrows and 
binders, while American girls jis' stick around the 
house." 

"It ain't hard, running our machines," said the man. 
"Take ploughing — you can sit on the seat and ride, and 
when you get tired of that you can walk along behind. 
Our fields are usually pretty level and they're often half 
a mile across, and you drive right along with no change 
only to turn at the corners. After you've adjusted your 
plough at the start to have it go as deep as you want it 
should, you don't have to touch it all day. A girl of 
thirteen, who can drive, is jis' as good at ploughing as a 



52 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

man. Why, I had a nigger once workin' for me, and 
he used to hunt rabbits while his team ploughed." 

" I was raised up to cook and take care of the house 
for a family of five," said the woman, "and I thought I 
was a terrible worker; but my father told me I didn't 
know nothin' about work, and I reckon he was right. 
It would be a good thing if farmers' wives were more 
expert out of doors, for then if a woman was ever left a 
widow it wouldn't paralyze her." 

"Late years it's been almost impossible to git hands," 
the man observed. "There used to be fellers come along 
and beg for work, but they don't any more. We hired 
niggers considerable until they got too triflin' and 
ornery. The only way to git a nigger on the farm now 
is to rent him a few acres for a share in the crop, and 
furnish him everything to work with. A number of 'em 
owns land here. They went and tuck up claims in 
some sandy country that the whites didn't think was 
worth anything, and they raise good cotton there. A 
few years ago one of these colored men got up a colony 
to go to Africa. They sold out their claims for five or 
six hundred dollars apiece and started. A good many 
become discouraged and turned back at New York, but 
others went on clear to Africa. They didn't like it 
there, though. The climate didn't suit 'em, and some 
died, and all the rest come back that was able to do so." 

"The darkeys are ]is' no account on earth," declared 
the woman. "Let 'em live among you and have their 



In Oklahoma 53 

own way, and they would lead you a merry gait. They 
sure are overbearing. I drove into one of their yards in 
town by mistake and across a corner of a garden, and a 
woman come out and give me fits for goin' on her land. 
Apologies didn't make any difference. She kept right 
on a-scoldin'. It made me feel awful cheap. In some 
towns they won't allow any darkey after sunset. The 
darkeys, too, have several towns of their own where 
they make the same laws about the whites." 

The Indians are another race much in evidence in 
the region. Industrially they do not count at all, but 
they come and go on the trains and loiter in purposeless 
meditation for hours at a time on the town streets. It 
was quite evident that they did not have to work to live, 
and that they had been wholly unable to get into har- 
mony with the white man's civilization. One of the 
town merchants who had dealt with them a good deal 
enlightened me as to their habits. 

"They have a monthly allowance of eight or ten dol- 
lars apiece from the government," said he, "and when 
their lands were set off a few years ago every darn one 
of 'em, little and big, got a quarter section. That land 
they lease, and it brings 'em a nice little income. The 
whites raise wheat on it; but if an Indian would let a 
white man build his home on the land, the white man 
could agree to hand over a third of the crop, and when 
the time come give him a fifth, and both parties be better 
off than at present. 



54 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

"If an Indian gets any money, he ain't happy till he 
spends it. Maybe he'll buy a two hundred and fifty 
dollar carriage, and he'll ride around in it for a while 
and leave it out in the rain and the broiling hot sun till 
the paint comes oiF. Then he'll drive to town and sell 
it for fifty dollars or possibly thirty-five. Perhaps in- 
stead of a carriage he'll buy a team and pay seventy-five 
dollars on it and give a mortgage for the rest. By and 
by he gets hard up and raises a little money by mort- 
gaging the team to someone else. In the end the first 
man duns for the balance that's due him, and the In- 
dian surrenders the team and loses what he'd paid. 
At one time the government furnished the Indians with 
brand-new, spankin'-nice ploughs. But they just let 
'em lie around. Such ploughs would cost twenty-five 
dollars apiece, and yet if a white man come along and 
offered three dollars for one the Indian would sell. He 
didn't like the plough anyway. 

"I know an Indian out here named Little Snake, 
who owns fifteen quarters of land and has built a three- 
room house. One day he bought a wagon-load of furni- 
ture in town. I saw him driving past with it on his way 
home, and I made the remark to my wife, 'What in 
thunder do you s'pose Little Snake wants of that bunch 
of furniture V 

"Well, he'd bought a lot of bug juice here, too, and 
he was drunk before he left the town, and by the time 
he reached home he was good and drunk. Amongst 



In Oklahoma 55 

the rest of his new furniture was a nice dresser, and 
when he was unloading that dresser the next morning 
he saw himself in the mirror, and he thought the glass 
was libelling him. He's got a nose five times as big as 
mine, and it's all pitted with the smallpox — so he's no 
beauty at any time, and he looked rather worse than 
usual on account of his drunk. He wouldn't stand for 
what he saw in the mirror, and he took a hammer and 
smashed the glass all to pieces. 

"Another Indian bought a hearse at a cost of several 
hundred dollars. He'd never before seen an3Athing in 
the line of a riding carriage that was quite so grand, and 
he used to take great pride in driving around the country 
with it. Oh, these Indians are the most careless, do- 
less people on earth. The tribes used to be fightin' 
each other all the time, and now that they ain't allowed 
to fight they're at a loss how to spend their time. Some 
of the young fellows are quite civilized and smart; but 
the old bucks are wild — just like a buffalo — you can't 
teach 'em anything. There's only one Indian I know 
of in the whole compoodle of 'em who'll mow his own 
grass. But they will occasionally band together and 
work in the harvest, and they'll pick cotton. Then, too, 
the women do considerable of this bead work that's 
sold in the stores. 

"They don't trust us. They think every white man 
is beating them. 'White man lie,' they say. I don't 
trust the Indians any more than they trust us. They've 



56 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

always stuck me on everything I've sold 'em unless I've 
got my pay at the time. They travel about a good deal 
on the trains or on horseback. You don't see 'em goin' 
afoot. They're too lazy. They won't even exert them- 
selves to fish or hunt — though if an eagle shows up 
they'll follow that till doomsday to get it. They use the 
feathers to make a war bonnet, which they keep as a 
choice piece of finery. But sooner or later they get hard 
up and bring it to town and sell it for from fifteen to 
twenty-five dollars. If you start in to hunt on their land 
they'll very soon see you and come and look and look, 
standing first on one foot and then on the other. Finally 
they'll speak and say, 'No hunt, no hunt.' 

"'Well,' you say, 'I just want to shoot a few rabbits 
and quail. I won't get 'em all.' 

"But they repeat: 'No hunt, no hunt!' 

"Then you put your hand in your pocket and pay 
'em fifty cents, and you can hunt all you want to, and 
Mr. Indian won't show himself again that day. 

"They all like firewater. It's against the law to sell 
it to 'em; but they'll give some low down nigger or 
other cuss a dollar and tell him to go and get them a 
pint. So he'll buy a pint for fifty cents and keep the 
change, and'll hide the bottle in a place agreed on where 
the Indians can find it. I've known these fool Indians 
to buy patent medicines and flavoring essences to drink 
for the alcohol that's in 'em. After a fellow's got medi- 



In Oklahoma 57 

cine enough inside to feel happy he perhaps gets on his 
horse and gallops it up and down the street. He ain't 
content with just plain riding, and he makes the horse 
r'ar up and go along on its haunches. As soon as the 
horse stops the Indian tumbles off. In some cases drink 
makes the drinkers ugly, and two or three of 'em'll go to 
fighting and pretty near chop each other all up; or 
they'll want to go on a stampede and scalp the first 
white man they meet." 

The nearest of the various Indian camps in the vicin- 
ity was Chief Bullbear's, about three miles from the 
town and nearly a mile from the highway. One morn- 
ing I went to have a look at it. In order to get to the 
scattered group of houses that comprised the homes of 
the half dozen families who accepted Bullbear as their 
chief I had to crawl through several barbed wire fences. 
These inclosed the big pastures and cultivated fields, 
most of which had been leased to the whites. The 
fences were not at all romantic, nor were the Indian 
homes much more so. The banks of the creek were 
wooded, but the houses were on the level prairie, and 
their bareness was unrelieved by trees, vines or gardens. 
Through an open door I observed one family at break- 
fast. At the far side of the room was a cook-stove with 
shiny nickel decorations; but there were no chairs or 
tables, and the dishes and food were distributed all over 
the floor. Men, women, and children were squatted 
about amid the medley and were apparently going to 
spend most of the day at their feast. 



58 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

Bullbear's house was painted sky blue with red trim- 
mings. In one corner of the yard was a pump that 
looked as if it would not work, in which respect it was 
like its owner. Four or five half-wild dogs were loiter- 
ing around, and they growled at me suspiciously, 

Bullbear sat on the edge of the little piazza, a grim 
and wrinkled patriarch. To his right and left, perched 
along in a row, were a number of squaws and children. 
One of the women, Hattie Stumphorn by name, had 
been to school in her youth, and could talk very good 
English; but except for her first name and her linguis- 
tic ability I could not see that she was much difi^erent 
from the rest of the Indians. I had hoped to find them 
living in tepees. There was, however, only one tepee in 
the camp. This was in a yard and served the family 
for a warm weather residence. Near the tepee I was 
interested to observe a lawn mower. It was in the midst 
of a grass patch, and I inferred that the owner had been 
disappointed in it and had stopped right there dis- 
couraged. Probably he was surprised to find it was 
more work than fun to run the contrivance. 

In a pasture not far away was a prairie dog village 
which I found decidedly more lively than the Indian 
camp. Around each burrow was a conical heap of dirt 
with the hole in the middle, and these mounds, a rod or 
two apart, scattered away as far as I could see. On 
the mounds that were at a safe distance the little dogs 
sat upright watching me; while on the mounds some- 



In Oklahoma 59 

what nearer were other dogs, Hkewise watchful, but 
standing on all fours ready to dodge down into the holes. 
Each dog kept up an incessant racket of short, squeaky 
barks; and at every yelp he gave a jerk to his tiny tail. 
Numerous small gray owls were sitting on the mounds 
with the dogs, or flitting about. Many rattlesnakes also 
dwell in the dog towns and are to be found at home in 
the burrows with the dogs and owls. These various 
creatures constitute a friendly and happy family, ex- 
cept that the snakes have an unfortunate habit of eat- 
ing the young dogs. 

Other vs^ild life was not lacking in the Indian vicinity. 
Sometimes a long-legged Jack rabbit would streak 
away with the swiftness of the wind for a short distance, 
then pause a moment with alert, sensitive ears to study 
my intentions; sometimes a half dozen quail sprang 
into sudden flight from beside my path; and once a 
crane, known as a "shikepoke," flew up from a wet 
hollow with dangling legs and broad wings and dis- 
appeared over the trees that bordered the creek. 

When I returned to the highway the chief from the 
next camp beyond BuUbear's came along in a shabby 
old buggy, driving a scrawny pair of ponies. He at once 
offered me a ride, and I went to town in his company. 

On my last evening in Kingfisher I came across a bit 
of news in a local paper that ran as follows: 

"While our town has long borne the name of being 
the home of some of the most distinguished and politi- 



6o Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

cal men of Oklahoma she has another honor — one 
which very few of the largest cities can boast. This 
new honor is brought upon us by a woman, Mrs. I. S. 
Blank, the only successful lady novelist in the State of 
Oklahoma. Mrs. Blank's great gift has been known to 
only a few very intimate friends until a short time ago 
when her first publication was accepted by a Boston 
publisher. The novelist receives ^35,000 for the copy- 
right, and five hundred volumes as a gift from the pub- 
lishing company. The novel will contain a beautiful 
lithograph of the lady composer. Mrs. Blank is in the 
prime of life, highly cultured and educated. During 
her early residence here she was a leader in social cir- 
cles, but growing weary of the general routine of func- 
tions she withdrew from society and of late years has 
devoted her time to the home life, and here in the pri- 
vacy of her own home she has put her noble thoughts 
in volume, to be read and enjoyed by generations to 
come." 

When I perused the above and heard from the towns- 
people that the lady herself had made the statements 
printed about her book I could not doubt but that the 
town indeed had a really remarkable romancer. 

Note. — I think the attraction of Oklahoma for the stranger con- 
sists largely in its newness, and in observing what progress has been 
made in the short period that has elapsed since it became a white man's 
land. Wherever you go, the wonder is to find so much accomplished 
and such numbers of people and large towns where were only prairie 



In Oklahoma 6i 

and Indians a few years ago. Visit Guthrie and Oklahoma City 
for examples of what the state's larger communities are, and go out 
and see something of the vastness of the farming country. The In- 
dians, too, are worthy of attention, though amid the tides of civiliza- 
tion flowing around them and the busy agricultural thrift of the whites, 
they seem incongruous and at a loss to make the transition from the 
savage freedom of their fathers to the workaday necessities of the 
present. 



IV 



A TEXAS BUBBLE 



FOR hundreds of miles, as the train sped along 
toward the Gulf, I had been in typical Southern 
country. That is, there were long reaches of oak 
and pine forest, and little sawmill villages, and negro 
cabins with stick and clay chimneys at one end, and 
many broad acres of corn and cotton. My destination 
was Beaumont, and during the final hour or two I ob- 
served that the streams and pools beside the tracks had 
an oily scum on them. A further evidence that I was 
coming into the famous oil region was the odor of the 
smoke from the steam engine, for oil has long been the 
standard fuel of the railroads in this district. 

Beaumont became a bonanza oil town in 1901, and 
the story of its rise to fame is decidedly picturesque. 
This story has often been told, but I got a fresh version, 
with many touches of originality, from a local citizen 
who participated more or less in the events which he 
chronicled, and I repeat his words. 

"The discoverer of the great underground supply of 
oil was a young one-armed fellow named Higgins who 
worked logging on the river. I'll tell you how he hap- 



A Texas Bubble 63 

pened to have only one arm. Way off on the edge of 
the town, where it was just wilderness in those days, 
was a nigger church; and one night, when the niggers 
was havin' a meetin', Higgins and a few other lads 
went out there to have some fun. They commenced 
rocking the church — throwing stones up on the roof — 
and a policeman come along and tried to arrest 'em. 
Higgins drew a revolver. The policeman did the same 
and put a bullet in Higgins' right arm. That made the 
lad drop his revolver, but he picked it up in his left 
hand and shot the policeman dead; and the next morn- 
ing he was before the court and exonerated. His arm 
was taken off, and after he got well he went back to the 
river. He couldn't go jumping around on the logs the 
way he had before, and the sawmill give him a job at 
the boom, where it was his business to push the logs 
with a spikepole so the grip would catch 'em and draw 
'em from the water up to the saws. All he got was a 
dollar and a half a day, and he began to figure on how 
he could make more money. 

"About four miles out of town, at a place we call 
Spindletop, was kind of a greasy mudhole where gas 
bubbled up, and Higgins got the idea that oil could be 
found there. So from time to time he'd interest some 
person to furnish money to do a little boring. Pretty 
soon, however, his financier would get discouraged and 
quit; but Higgins was a fighting dog, and he never did 
give it up himself. As often as he could save up a hun- 



64 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

dred dollars he'd go to Spindletop and work his derrick. 
Nobody paid much attention to him. The land wasn't 
good for a thing in the world so far as crops were con- 
cerned. You couldn't even raise a disturbance on it. 

"Finally Higgins got hold of a Pennsylvania oil man 
named Lucas who knew just how to do the drilling, only 
he didn't have much money and presently went broke. 
He was about to quit discouraged, but his wife prevailed 
on him to bore one day more, and that day, about noon, 
they struck a gusher which blowed their apparatus and 
everything all to Guinea. Lucas didn't lack for money 
after that, and he blossomed out in tailor-made clothes 
and a plug hat. The Beaumont people had been cussin' 
and abusin' him when he couldn't pay his debts, but 
now he was a great man to them. They'd watch him 
on the streets and point him out to strangers. 'I see 
him,' they'd say. 'That is Captain Lucas just going 
past.' 

"Beaumont was at that time the dangdest old ram- 
shackle wooden sawmill town you ever saw. There 
wa'n't much here but mud and slabs; but in a little 
while the place was known all over the United States. 
Talk about California and Colorado! — the excitement 
over the gold finds there wa'n't in it with what we ex- 
perienced here. You see that Lucas well was an un- 
usual one. Seventy thousand barrels of oil flowed from 
it every twenty-four hours. People went crazy, and the 
land for miles around soared up in price out of sight. 




Sonic oj the tcinks anionii the Jerncks 



A Texas Bubble 65 

Not only those interested in oil flocked in, but crooks 
and thugs and light-fingered gentry from all over the 
earth. This was the capital of toughdom, and if you 
didn't let your money slip to the sharpers by gambling, 
they'd lay in wait for you and knock you in the head. 

"We perhaps had ten thousand transients in the place 
when the excitement was at its height, and rents were 
something terrible. Tents were put up all over town, 
and beds set in 'em in rows like in a hospital. To sleep 
in one of those beds cost a dollar a night. When I first 
reached town none of the streets were paved, and the 
heavy teams constantly going and coming made 'em a 
deep rutted bog. Oh, my gracious alive! you never saw 
such a mess, and it seemed to rain mighty near ever' 
day, too. 

"A good many experienced oil men at first thought 
the Lucas gusher was a freak, and they weren't game 
enough to take hold of the property. So others got 
ahead of them. Some of the investors made fortunes, 
but about ninety-nine per cent lost instead. Many a 
person come here rich and left with nothing — had to 
walk to get away, and perhaps went barefooted at that. 
They'd arrive with their hands full of money, and beg 
for the chance to buy some land, and often they was 
sold land that never existed. I know there was a tramp 
beating his way West on a freight train, and when he 
got to Beaumont he see a dickins of a commotion on the 
street — people running up and down — and he says, 
'Here's where I'm goin' to get off.' 



66 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

"He hadn't heard anything about the discovery of 
oil at Spindletop, and he wanted to find out what was 
the matter. After working a few days till he understood 
things, he got a dr)^goods box to stand on and went to 
selling land on a street corner. He didn't have any to 
sell, and yet he cleaned up two hundred thousand dol- 
lars and got away with the money. 

"Some of the speculators were honest in their inten- 
tions, but the oil-producing district is quite limited, and 
these fellows bought anywhere and everywhere. Then 
they'd organize a company and begin disposing of 
stock. Usually though, their wells wouldn't strike oil 
in paying quantities, or were only dusters — that is, they 
had been bored down into dry sand. 

"Those speculators who were dishonest often didn't 
invest in land or boring at all, but simply started a 
company and sold stock to suckers. They'd perhaps 
pay big dividends for a short time to coax forth more 
money from their victims, and then pocket the cash. 

"But if there was lots of crookedness and disap- 
pointment, some of those Spindletop wells were wonders 
and no mistake; and the oil men kept boring them in 
spite of the fact that there was no way of taking care of 
the oil — no tanks, no pipe line, no refinery, not even a 
road to town. They simply turned the oil loose for the 
edification of the curious public. Why, for two or three 
years the ditches here in town were running with that 
black oil, and every stream in the region flowed with a 



A Texas Bubble 67 

coating an inch or more thick. It gave off quite a rank 
smell, and we had also a strong odor of gas escaping 
from the Spindletop wells. Besides that, the gas ate off 
the paint from the houses, and they looked shabby and 
neglected, even if they were painted two or three times 
a year. But we've no reason to complain now. The 
industry has been thoroughly organized and nothing is 
wasted. It is supposed that the Standard Oil Company 
controls the bulk of the business. Their policy is to let 
others do the wild-catting and then step in and reap the 
harvest. 

"The boom certainly did wake up Beaumont; and, 
sir, you have no idea how this blame place is growing. 
It's the best town in old Texas. You'd be surprised 
how much wealth we've got here. Several of the Beau- 
mont boys got to live on Easy Street through oil invest- 
ments, and Higgins is at the head of the biggest oil com- 
pany in the state. He has an income of sixteen hun- 
dred dollars a day. Then there's all those who've been 
made rich by the enormous increase in the value of land 
in and near the town. But it ain't just oil that's built up 
Beaumont. Lumber and rice are responsible, too; and 
I believe there's more capital invested in rice than in 
oil. 

When I journeyed out to see Spindletop it was with 
the expectation of finding a steep, rounded hill, but the 
name originated in a clump of tall trees that grew in the 
vicinity and made a cone-shaped mass of foliage that 



68 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

was a landmark for the old settlers on the adjacent 
prairie. The oil district is on slightly rising ground 
covering a circular patch scarcely a mile across. It is a 
leafless, angular forest of derricks — a dismal, blasted 
tract wholly devoid of beauty, natural or artificial. 
You hear the hissing of steam, the throbbing of engines, 
you see whirling wheels and the pumps moving with 
unceasing regularity, and there are grimy men at work 
singly and in groups. But the men are few and scat- 
tered for such a jungle of derricks. One engine does 
the pumping for half a dozen wells, and everything has 
been so simplified that a single man's guiding hand 
accomplishes what would seem to be work for a dozen. 
The drill consists of a six-inch pipe, and this has to 
go down about a thousand feet to strike the oil strata. 
The best well in the tract produces five hundred barrels 
a day, but the average is less than fifty barrels, and 
pumping continues even if the yield is only seven or 
eight. A near-by pit, a few yards across, serves each 
group of wells and receives the oil and the water with 
which it is mixed. The latter sinks to the bottom and 
is allowed to flow away into a ditch, while the former 
runs to a second pit and is then pumped into a stout 
tank. Finally, after some further settling, the oil is 
piped to the rows of great storage tanks a mile or two 
away. A well is seldom productive over two years, and 
new borings are constantly being made. The wonder- 
ful gusher which first brought fame to the region went 




Netohhor meets net abbot 



A Texas Bubble 69 

dry long ago, and nothing is left of it but a hole on the 
edge of a marsh. The engines are either protected by 
rude sheds or stand in the open. They burn oil and 
have open fronts, and when you look in and see the 
fierce flames flashing up and dying down, and hear the 
roaring indraft of air, they seem like demoniacal mon- 
sters endowed with life. 

Off at one side of the field were a few short streets of 
shanty homes where the help dwelt, and which did not 
in the least relieve the chaotic and uninviting aspect of 
the oil-well territory. 

The work of the employees is of necessity dirty and 
disagreeable. "I've been baptized completely many 
times," said one of them. "When we used to strike 
gushers, up the oil would go and come right down on 
you. Worse still was the gas. It seems to occur in 
little pockets and will burst forth all of a sudden, so 
that if you don't look out you're a gone chicken. It 
only takes one or two whifFs of it to stop your clock, and 
the other fellers come to your rescue in a hurry. They 
pick you up by the nape of the neck, and give you a hit in 
the back and roll you around and throw water over 
you. It's surprisin' how quick the stuff acts. There 
was an old negro woman out here lookin' on when we 
struck gas once, and she said, 'I smell somethin' jus' 
like b'iled cabbage.' Then over she went. It was in 
the time of the gushers that we had most trouble with 
gas. Of course it was important to cap a well as soon 



70 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

as possible to stop the oil from running to waste, and 
I've seen owners beggin' men to work and offering 'em 
two dollars an hour. The men who undertook the job 
would have a rope hitched to 'em, so that when they'd 
run in where the oil was spouting and was overcome 
by gas they could be dragged out. Finally they got to 
using diving suits." 

A few years ago Beaumont had for a short time the 
reputation of being "miserable sickly;" but this was 
apparently due to incidental conditions that soon passed 
away, for the inhabitants claim the town has one of the 
best health records of any place in the United States. 
"Why," said one informant, "we had to kill a man to 
start a graveyard. Later, when the boom was on, a 
Northern man died here. There was talk of send- 
ing the body back to his friends; but finally it was de- 
cided to bury him here, and on the way to the graveyard 
he come to life. If he'd gone North he'd have stayed 
dead." 

The town is on a slight plateau bordering the Naches 
River, and across the stream are wooded swamplands 
with a thick undergrowth of palmetto scrub. "That's 
a fine place for fishing in the bayous over there," re- 
marked a man I met on the river bank; "but there's 
millions of mosquitoes, too, and at times we have the 
confounded things by the bushel right here in town. 
They'll kill young chickens — just prod 'em to death — 
and I've known 'em to kill cattle by pestering 'em so 



A Texas Bubble 71 

they'd run into a bog and lay down and die. Weather 
that's quiet and hot suits 'em best; but a wind will put 
'em out of business, and you won't see 'em nowhere. 
Whenever they harpoon me real bad I have the malaria 
next day, sure. 

"I used to be an engineer on the railroad; and along 
the coast the mosquitoes in the grass that lopped over 
on the rails would get crushed and grease the track so 
the engine wheels would slip. Sometimes that brought 
the train to a standstill, and we'd have to take a broom 
and get out and sweep and scrape and throw on sand. 
Then we'd start up and run as hard as we could to get 
beyond the grassy spot. 

" I see by the paper the cyclones are hitting the 
country to the north and east pretty hard. We don't 
have 'em here, but we do get an occasional West India 
hurricane. I was in the one we had in June, 1884. It 
made a tidal wave that killed everybody at Sabine Pass 
and wiped Indianola off the face of the earth. Indiano- 
la had been quite a shipping place, but nobody lived 
there afterward except an old negro native of the place, 
who happened to be away at the time of the disaster. 
When it was over he went back to where his master had 
lived and built him a shack of the wreckage, and there 
he stayed till he died. 

" I remember the day of the storm very well. It 
opened blustering, and about the middle of the fore- 
noon the wind blew a gale for forty-five minutes. I 



72 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

was takin' a passenger train south and was within two 
miles of Sabine Lake when I saw a wave of water five 
or ten feet high sweeping along over the level prairie 
toward us and carrying wreckage and boats and every- 
thing with it. A schooner — a great big feller over a 
hundred feet long — was taken clear across the track 
right in front of us, and the water come up on the deck 
of the engine, by jingoes! But the crest of the wave 
passed on and we were glad to find that nobody on the 
train was hurt. Our tracks were under water for several 
hours and we da'sen't go ahead or back with the train 
because of washouts. Late in the day we waded to dry 
land, following the track for about six miles; and the 
weather was then quiet and nice as could be. The 
train stayed there two months before the track could be 
put in shape to move it." 

My companion pointed to a man who had come along 
the path where we stood and was now several rods 
beyond us. "That feller's got a pistol in his pocket," 
said he. " I done had my eye on him ever since he went 
past, and when the wind blows his coat against his side 
you can see the pistol is there all right. The law don't 
allow carryin' pistols, but a Southern man believes 
that's one of his born rights. I come here from Mary- 
land, and I've looked down a gun more than once when 
the hole seemed to be six feet in diameter; but I can 
say this for the Texas people — I've never knowed any- 
body to be killed down here but what pretty near de- 



A Texas Bubble 73 

served his fate. Usually the man killed is a feller who's 
butted in and tried to bulldoze somebody. If you come 
here a stranger and behave yourself they'll just tear 
their shirts trying to do any favor for you that you may 
ask. They very seldom kill a man on the sly, but of 
course they go out and shoot each other to settle a dis- 
pute. The shooting is soon over, and is all right — the 
burial expense ain't much, and the relatives pay that. 
The county don't have to bear it. If they both don't 
get killed there's a case for the courts, and that puts 
money in circulation for lawyers' fees. Among the old- 
time Texans one shot apiece was enough. There wa'n't 
any such thing as missing, and I could tell you of dozens 
of instances of duels where both parties was killed. 

"Some curious things happen here in connection 
with law and order. I recall one Texas judge in a 
thinly settled district who kept a saloon and held court 
in the same room. Once a dead man was found in the 
vicinity with forty dollars and a revolver in his pockets, 
and the judge fined him the forty dollars for carrying 
the gun." 

Within a range of about thirty miles are several other 
oil pockets scarcely less notable than that at Spindletop, 
and I decided to visit the one at Sour Lake. On the 
way thither I had a chance to see the rice country sweep- 
ing away in apparently limitless levels with its network 
of canals and ditches. As the train went farther we 
entered a region of alternating prairie and forest, and 



74 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

in the opens were numerous herds of cattle. There was 
no fencing along the tracks, and once the engine gave a 
series of sharp toots, the brakes were applied, and the 
train slowed up with jarring suddenness. "We most 
hit a yearling that time," said a man who had put his 
head out of a window. 

The stock take care of themselves the year through, 
and ordinarily fare worst during the dry summer months. 
In the winter, if the weather is mild, they find feed 
plentiful. Snow is a rarity, and yet in 1895 the region 
had a storm that buried the earth in white a foot and 
a half deep, and many of the herds were almost wiped 
out. The golden period of the Texan cattle business 
was somewhat earlier. Then, in vast portions of the 
state, there was nothing but great grazing ranches, and 
the grass grew as high as a man's waist. "When a cow 
lay down in it," a former cowboy explained to me, "she 
was entirely lost to sight except the tip of her horns. 
But that grass has all been killed out by the excessive 
browsing and trampling. The cattle men lived in little 
log cabins or cheap box houses that the wind would 
blow right through. You never saw a door locked, and 
when you was on a journey and stopped for a drink of 
water at a house where no one was at home, you went 
right in and helped yourself, and if you shut the door 
as you went out the owner was perfectly satisfied. You 
could take anything you needed and welcome, except 
a horse. Steal one of the rancher's horses and he'd 




/Y hog family 



A Texas Bubble 75 

hang you if he could get hold of you. It didn't matter 
so much if you stole a yearling. You see all the balance 
of 'em did that." 

Sour Lake was originally a health resort of the In- 
dians. The lake was simply a small pond, the water of 
which was impregnated with sulphur and other minerals, 
and in the near-by woods were various peculiar springs 
that came to be recognized among the savages as bene- 
ficial for certain diseases. Indeed, some of the local 
dwellers claim that, "all the Indians in Texas" used to 
go there in April every year and camp in the neighbor- 
hood for several weeks, drinking the water and wallow- 
ing in the greasy bogholes. Among those who resorted 
to the springs, there came, about 1825, a boy who was 
half Indian and half negro, and as he grew older he 
adopted the spot as his home and became known as 
Dr. Mudd. He used to relate an Indian leg-end to the 
following purport: 

This part of Texas was formerly very dry and en- 
tirely devoid of streams or other bodies of water. At 
length the Indians prayed to the Great Spirit to change 
the country and supply it with brooks and rivers. So 
the Great Spirit told them to move up into middle Texas 
for a few weeks. This they did, and while they were 
there the ground in the region from which they had 
come shook and split open, and streams formed. The 
center of the disturbance was at Sour Lake where oc- 



76 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

curred "a tremendous terrible blowout," and when 
they returned, after the earth had quieted down, they 
found the medicinal pond and springs. 

Dr. Mudd acquired something of a reputation for 
his knowledge of the healing properties of the different 
springs and bogs, and more and more people came to be 
cured of rheumatism and skin and blood diseases. 
Persons afflicted with these ailments were often greatly 
helped, but the place "would sure knock you out," if 
you had a tendency to lung trouble. Presently someone 
erected a large, pillared hotel near the springs, and it 
became the annual habit with many planters to bring 
their families from the low, malarial rivers to Sour Lake 
and stay through the summer. Not all of them lived in 
the hotel. Some preferred to put up a house of their 
own or to camp in a tent. They were accustomed also 
to bring their sick negroes to spend a few weeks. 

The negro doctor had driven a pipe down into the 
soil about twenty feet, and it slowly dripped a sulphur 
oil that he put up in vials and sold for a liniment. He 
called it "Sour Lake Tar." The doctor was a very 
religious old darkey who revered God and was afraid 
of the devil; and when the first gusher came in he said 
that the oil men were destroying God's health resort. 
God would punish them, he declared, the same as He 
did those who started to build the tower to heaven, and 
in order to escape the wrath to come Dr. Mudd departed. 



A Texas Bubble 77 

The first actual drilling in the region was done in 
1896 by some West Virginia men. After going down 
two hundred and fifty feet they got a flow of thick oil 
which they concluded would be very good for lubricat- 
ing purposes. They shipped some to the sawmills 
around, but when the machines to which it was applied 
became warm the odor of the oil was extremely offen- 
sive, and the mill workmen would not use it. This dis- 
couraged the prospectors, and Sour Lake continued to 
be a quiet health resort until after the "boom was on 
big" over at Beaumont. Then several drillers came 
here, and pretty soon the oil was running out all over 
everything in tens of thousands of barrels a day. There 
was no settlement worth mentioning — ^just a hotel and 
a little church, a schoolhouse and a few scattered dwell- 
ings. Close to where the oil was struck lived an elderly 
Irishman named Pat Cannon. He was a peddler who 
drove a wagon around the country selling needles and 
thread and a few drygoods. Mostly he had to take 
chickens and eggs in exchange. Before oil was found 
the land in the vicinity was worth about twenty-five 
cents an acre, but now the price jumped. Cannon had 
an old tumble-down place with the weeds and brush 
growing all around. He entirely lacked knowledge of 
large business transactions, and very likely the oil men 
would have swindled him out of his property; but a 
relative who was more used to affairs said to him: "See 
here, you just get out of the way and let me handle this 
for you." 



78 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

So after some bargaining Cannon sold part of his 
land for one hundred thousand dollars and leased more 
for an eighth of the oil that was produced. On the day 
of the sale he had just thirty-six cents in his house. 

As soon as oil was struck, crowds of adventurers and 
speculators, workers and sightseers began to flock in, 
and, as one informant declared: "People just had to 
stand out all night. I golly! they couldn't get no place 
to sleep. Drinking water had to be brought from a 
distance and was worth more than the oil. Water sold 
for fifty cents a barrel and oil for ten. Pretty near all 
the people have done gone and left us now so there's 
only about two thousand inhabitants." 

It was thought at the time of the boom that Sour Lake 
was going to be a big city, and all the surrounding re- 
gion was laid oft' in streets. The present town is for the 
most part a scattered, dingy settlement of unpainted 
wooden shanties, and big forlorn structures that were 
formerly boarding-houses. Along either side of the 
dusty, littered chief street are shabby stores and saloons, 
usually one story high with a covered veranda in front. 
The floors of the verandas varied so much in elevation 
and were so broken it seemed rather adventurous walk- 
ing on them. In the ditches at the edge of this crazy 
sidewalk were oily pools and mudholes. Dogs abounded, 
and so did razor-backed hogs and grazing horses and 
cattle, and they all went just where they pleased. If 
anyone objected to the liberties they took he fenced his 




On the hotel puizzei 



A Texas Bubble 79 

premises against them. Those freaks of hogs some- 
times sauntered along on the veranda walks and would 
even take a look in at the saloons as if they recognized 
some of their kin in the loafers there. 

I stayed at a hotel in a grove of noble live oaks and 
sweetgums that were festooned with long tresses of gray 
moss. The hotel quite charmed me at first with its 
stout whitewashed fence inclosing the yard, and its 
broad upper and lower galleries on two sides of the 
house. It was typically Southern in its architecture 
and had an attractive air of repose and shadowed cool- 
ness; but it was a hastily-built structure set on wooden 
blocks and was flimsy and dilapidated. About dusk 
the cattle came drifting in from the prairie; and the 
grove outside of the hotel yard was their favorite stop- 
ping place for the night in company with the razor- 
backs and wandering ponies. There was a good deal 
of lowing and grunting and whinnying and stamping 
around before the creatures settled down. Moreover, 
the town dogs had a habit of giving an evening concert, 
and soon after midnight the roosters would begin to 

o to 

crow their lusty challenges and kept up an intermittent 
chorus until daybreak. But the most insistent sound 
was the rumble of the pumps and drills off" on the 
oil-field — a noise resembling the distant roar of a giant 
waterfall. 

The bulk of the oil-field belongs to a single big com- 
pany which bought the old health resort. Its wells are 



8o Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

scattered through the woodland at quite a distance 
from each other so that one well does not take oil from 
territory another might drain. Just outside of this 
property, clinging along its edges, are the independent 
operators with derricks set almost as thick as they can 
stand. 

Most of the early comers who found oil made money, 
but unless they later got into a large well-organized 
company, or left the field satisfied with a moderate for- 
tune they lost what they had previously gained. "When 
you are once in this business," one pioneer oil man said 
to me, "it's a blame hard thing to quit, you betcher! 
As soon as oil was discovered here I come, and I come 
a-whoopin'. I bought oil land for ninteen hundred 
dollars that I sold for seventy-five thousand. Yes sir, but 
I haven't got that money now. I tell you, there's four 
dollars dropped to one that's picked up in this business. 
We've got plenty of good oil land here not yet included 
in what's being worked, and there's men who put in all 
their time wandering around trying to locate it — oil 
smellers, we call 'em. Every one of 'em has his own 
methods and looks for the signs that he thinks are 
sure. But the wildcat wells are seldom successful. The 
lack of results from them is very apt to be charged to 
the Standard Oil Company or some of the concerns 
related to it. The prospectors think their drillers are 
bribed by the big companies to go right through the oil 
strata, and it is a fact that a whole lot of drillers are no 



A Texas Bubble 8l 

better than United States senators. They walk around 
with one hand behind them and take money on the 
side. But of course you can't always sometimes tell. 
I've seen a well yielding seven thousand barrels a day, 
and right adjoining it another was drilled which didn't 
seem as if it could miss being a big producer, and yet 
the second well got nothing but salt water." 

Sour Lake itself has been preserved and is a grassy 
scum-covered pond with park-like surroundings, and 
with the old medicinal springs still in existence along 
its borders. People continue to drink the waters, though 
they do not come thither in such numbers as formerly. 

As to the future of the Beaumont oil-field there is 
some uncertainty. I met persons who believed that it 
would rapidly be exhausted, and others who thought it 
would continue productive for an indefinite period; 
but the time when the industry here was a bubble, 
irridescent with the promise of untold riches to the in- 
vestor, is gone, and fortunes no longer are recklessly 
wasted in trying to realize those unsubstantial dreams 
of wealth. 

Note.— The pleasure of an acquaintance with the Beaumont dis- 
trict dovvm in the southeast comer of Texas depends largely on the 
remembrance of its romantic past. The oil industry as conducted 
there now is quite prosaic and business-like, though its out-door 
character and the picturesqueness of the great derricks cannot help 
but lend some attraction. But to wander about and recall the turmoil 
and excitement of the days when the gushing of the first wells was the 
talk of the world, and to hear the stories of the pioneers of those days 



82 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

is an experience to be heartily enjoyed. Sour Lake, which shared 
honors with Beaumont itself in the early flooding of the region with 
oil, has a quaint woodland setting, and should not be missed by anyone 
who visits the vicinity. A short trip to the south is Sabine Lake and 
the Gulf of Mexico, and nearly every traveller would be interested to 
visit Galveston which is only a few hours distant by railroad. Still 
farther down the coast is Corpus Christi a famous pleasure resort for 
tourists, fishermen and health-seekers. It is on a beautiful bay, has a 
delightful climate, and claims to be unequalled the world over for sea- 
bathing, fishing, and boating. 



V 

ON THE BANKS OF THE RIO GRANDE 

THE river which is the boundary Hne for more than 
a thousand miles between the United States and 
Mexico has a name unusually impressive and 
charming to the imagination; and one naturally infers 
that the stream is big and beautiful, flowing amid superb 
scenery. I suppose we should not expect the character 
of the actual river to come up to this ideal; but I was 
to see it first at Eagle Pass — and the name of the Pass 
like the name of the river fostered the feeling that there, 
at least, the setting of the stream would be notably 
romantic. What I really found was a wide channel, 
with bordering clay bluff's that in places rose to an im- 
posing height. The water did not at that season fill the 
channel, which, on one side or the other, was often in 
part occupied by broad, brushy levels, and shelving 
stone-strewn beaches. The stream was brown with 
mud, and ran seaward in swift shallows. Yet the vol- 
ume of water was considerable, and when the river is in 
flood it is a tremendous torrent. Nevertheless, except 
for a few miles at the mouth, the stream is not put to 
any use as a waterway. At Eagle Pass I did not even 
see a rowboat on it, though twenty thousand people 
live on its banks in the immediate vicinity. 



84 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

The town on the American side is a rather straggling 
trading center, with a number of large stores, banks and 
hotels scattered along its chief street. Most of the other 
structures consist of a medley of little Mexican shops 
and dwellings that vary from substantial comfort to 
the most meager discomfort. The houses were often 
quite attractive, even when very humble. They usu- 
ally had walls of stone or adobe, smoothly cemented 
and whitewashed, and vines and blossoming shrubbery 
grew about them. Many of the older houses were 
roofed with thatch and resembled the peasant cottages 
of Europe. Grass suitable for thatch is, however, be- 
coming scarce. It used to grow abundantly in the bogs 
and along the streams, but it has been killed by the 
browsing of the cattle and by repeated cutting. A new 
roof on the better houses is now apt to be of shingles, 
and, on the poorer houses, of boards. Indeed, the huts 
of the humbler inhabitants recently built are as a rule 
wholly of boards, and are thoroughly ugly. 

Another type of housewalls is made by setting up 
studding to which slender limbs of mesquite are nailed 
like lath. The space between is filled with flat stones 
and the lath are plastered over with clay. If the clay 
later begins to drop off it is an easy matter to dab on 
some more. But the Mexicans are not very thrifty in 
making seasonable repairs, and they often wait till 
some of the cross-sticks loosen and let all the stones 
come sliding out. Then, perhaps, instead of restoring 




'3-.*r 






''^ytri 




F lilt HI' a cask 



On the Banks ot the Rio Grande 85 

the wall, they put up a makeshift barrier of rushes or 
canes or old tin, and that may serve for months and 
possibly years. 

Many of the oldest buildings had the appearance, 
as seen from the outside, of being roofless, but in reality 
the roofs were of cement, nearly flat, and the drainage 
was shot out over the sidewalk by a series of wooden 
spouts projecting through the front wall. Glass win- 
dows are a luxury, and the poorer families get along 
with little unglazed openings that can be closed with a 
board shutter. Often the upper panels of the doors are 
made to open for ventilation. The windows have grat- 
ings of iron, primarily designed to exclude intruders, 
but which formerly served also to keep the young men 
and young women apart. Intimate association between 
the sexes, after the children reached their teens, was 
thought undesirable. So the girls were obliged to spend 
most of their time indoors, and went out only when 
properly escorted. The boys, however, could roam the 
streets freely, and if a lad had a fancy for a particular 
girl he watched for an opportunity to talk with her 
through the barred window. 

At Eagle Pass, as in all other villages along the Rio 
Grande, the whites constitute most of the mercantile 
class, but the bulk of the people are Mexicans. It is 
the Mexican language one hears most frequently on 
the streets and in the stores, and the majority of those 
who speak it are unable to use English at all. As a 



86 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

class they are poor and ilHterate and lack the faculty of 
saving and rising to a higher plane of wealth and living 
than the one to which they are born. This is especially 
true on the south side of the river, where a system of 
peonage keeps the laborer always indebted to his em- 
ployer; and the law does not allow him to move away 
while his debt is uncancelled. He is forever climbing 
a hill and never getting to the top, and his children take 
up the burden after him. Perhaps in desperation he 
runs away and escapes across the border. Then he 
gets work, and all the money he can spare from his 
wages is sent back to Mexico until he has paid off his 
debt; for he could not safely return while any of it was 
unsettled. His energies are next bent to saving enough 
to pay the debts of his relatives and bring them across 
the river. If they attempted to get away by stealth and 
were caught they would be thrown into prison. 

The Mexicans are used to heavy, prolonged work, 
and are sinewy and active. But they have little 
initiative, need oversight, are slow to adapt themselves 
to circumstances, and lack a vigorous courage. Em- 
ployers very much prefer those newly across the line. 
A recent arrival, when he speaks to you, pulls off his 
hat and holds it under his arm, and his humility and 
readiness to do faithfully whatever task is allotted to 
him are points in his favor. After he learns English he 
is often turned away, because, "He knows too much, 




^ 



On the Banks of the Rio Grande 87 

begins to think he is the boss instead of you, will not 
work so hard as formerly, and, in general, is less 
reliable." 

It is not the habit for the women to work in the fields. 
Ordinarily they stay about their homes, cook the food, 
look after the chickens and take care of the garden if 
they have one. Among the lowest class it sometimes 
happens that a wife supports her husband in idleness 
by taking in washing. 

The poorer families at Eagle Pass do not have con- 
nection with the city water system, but buy what they 
need at ten cents a barrel of peddlers who drive through 
the streets with a great cask mounted on two wheels 
that is drawn by a donkey. Some peddlers go to the 
river for the water, and others purchase it at a small 
price from the city. 

In my rambles about the region I usually had the 
company of a very intelligent Mexican who could speak 
both his native and the English language; and he took 
me into quite a number of houses that I might under- 
stand more clearly how the people lived. The dwellings 
were rarely as spacious as the size of the families seemed 
to demand, and it was necessary to have a bed in the 
living-room. The better homes were neat and orderly, 
and the walls were adorned with enlarged portraits and 
gaudy-colored religious scenes. In the poorer houses 
there was only one room, with a shed-like kitchen 
attached. The floor was the hard-trodden earth, and 



88 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

the space above was open to the roof. Such interiors 
were gloomy and cavernous and smoke-blackened. 
Usually there was a wide-mouthed fireplace, but if the 
chimney happened to be out of order a few stones were 
set up on the floor. On these stones a pot could be 
set with a fire underneath, and the smoke curled up 
toward the rafters and escaped through some window, 
or through crevices in the walls and roof. Often a home 
contains only one bed, and most of the family sleep on 
the floor. Occasionally a family had a pig, which was 
tied near the back door. If the pig was small, the 
cord was passed in a criss-cross fashion over its 
shoulders and back. If large, the creature was tied by 
a hind leg. 

Several dogs were sure to be members of the house- 
hold, and at one dilapidated hut where I called there 
were eight. A local American assured me that a Mex- 
ican felt bound to keep more dogs than he had children, 
and to feed them more, also. The hairless variety 
seemed to be especially numerous, and Antonio, my 
guide, accounted for this by saying: "People have a 
belief that sleeping with those kind of dogs will cure the 
rheumatism. But that's the only good thing there is 
about them. You can't touch one without its biting at 
you, or running away like a wild cow. These people 
like dogs, and are always ready to accept the present of 
a puppy, no matter what kind it is. The dogs sleep 
most of the day, and at night spend their time outdoors 



On the Banks of the Rio Grande 89 

barking at each other and the river. If an officer is or- 
dered to go and shoot a dog that is sick or has bitten 
someone, the owners make him all the trouble they can. 
You'd think they were protecting one of their children. 

"I do not care for dogs myself. It is the American 
fashion in the cities for a young lady to carry a dog in 
her arms. But no matter how sweet would be the girl, 
if she did that, I would have no use for her." 

One of the staple articles of food in the Mexican 
homes is the tortilla. This is a kind of corncake that 
every family has at noon, and that many indulge in 
three times a day. To make tortillas the corn is first 
boiled with a little lime to remove the hull. Then it is 
thoroughly washed and put on a slightly hollowed slab 
of stone a foot wide and two feet long. On this the corn 
is crushed with a stone pestle held flat and rubbed back 
and forth. Presently water is added and the rubbing 
continues till the meal becomes dough. Then, a small 
piece at a time, it is spatted between the palms into thin 
cakes the size of a large saucer. These are baked 
quickly over the fire on a simple piece of sheet iron, and 
are eaten with an accompaniment of beans and meat 
and vegetables. The family perhaps has no table, and 
a box serves instead; and some sit on other boxes and 
some on the floor. Knives and forks are useless lux- 
uries. The eater takes in each hand a tortilla doubled 
to form a scoop and by bringing them together in the 
stew, or whatever it is he has before him, captures a 



90 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

portion which he conveys to his mouth with one of the 
tortillas. At the same time he bites off the end of the 
improvised spoon. Thus he keeps dipping and biting 
till at length he pitches what is left of the tortillas to the 
dogs who have gathered close around with ears erect 
waiting for their share. Then perhaps the dinner will 
be enlivened by a dispute between two of the dogs or 
between a dog and a cat. Sometimes the tortillas are 
eaten with a little lard and salt. Butter is never seen in 
the ordinary Mexican home. Coffee is the principal 
drink, but the poor substitute a tea made from pepper- 
mint, which they pick and dry themselves. 

A field laborer gets up at daybreak, drinks some 
coffee, and goes off to work. About eight o'clock his 
wife or one of the children carries his breakfast to him. 
If the weather is warm he stops at eleven and goes 
home, and after the noon meal the whole family lie 
down for a siesta. The man probably reclines outside 
in the shade on a bench or the ground, or possibly in a 
hammock made of sacks. The woman's place is on 
the floor, just inside of the door where she gets the bene- 
fit of any breeze that blows. About three or four o'clock 
the siesta is over, and the man drinks a cup of coffee 
and resumes work. He continues at his task until dark. 
After he comes home he talks with his wife a while, has 
supper, and in the course of an hour or two goes to bed. 
The children have retired earlier, though they are often 
allowed to run the streets until quite late. 



On the Banks of the Rio Grande 91 

"But that is not good for them," said Antonio, "and 
I have my boy come in early when I am at home. If I 
am away he stays out, because my wife cannot make 
him come in with all her yells. He is the only child I 
have now. Just a few weeks ago it was I lost my little 
girl, three and a half years old. I think I liked her 
better than my boy — and I like him all right. She had 
learned to pray already; and every time I came home 
she'd run and hug and kiss me. Yes, I think baby girls 
are the real happiness of a family." 

Antonio rolled a cigaret and puffed at it in melan- 
choly reverie. I called his attention to an old woman 
not far away at the door of a hut. She also was puffing 
a cigaret. He said this was by no means an uncommon 
feminine habit, and that the men had to have their 
cigarets as a matter of course. " I began to smoke," 
said he, " at the age of four. My mother was dead, and 
my daddy let me have anything I wanted to keep me 
quiet. But most boys don't begin till they are eight or 

>> 
ten. 

Along the Rio Grande fifty cents a day is the usual 

wage of a Mexican laborer; yet by going a hundred 

miles or so to the north he can get a job herding sheep 

among the mountains at thirty dollars a month and his 

keep. He stays six months or more, and then, with 

about two hundred dollars, starts for home. It may be 

that at the first town he strikes he tries his hand at 



92 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

gambling, and gets drunk. In such a case, the chances 
are that he is robbed and has to turn back to his lonely 
employment in the rugged uplands. 

If, however, he escapes the allurements of the towns 
and reaches the home hut, he turns his money over to 
one of the women of the household — preferably the 
eldest. There may be a man in the family as old as the 
oldest woman; but the sheep herder would not think 
of making him the guardian of the treasure, for the old 
man might be tempted to spend it. With the old woman 
it is perfectly safe. She is from habit very close and 
economical, and she doles the money out a little at a 
time. Her bed is the hiding-place for the money, and 
one would think thieves might steal it. But some of the 
family are always about the house during the daytime; 
and at night not only are they all there, but the dogs 
and other domestic creatures besides, so that the 
disturbance created by an intruder would scare him out 
of his wits. 

When the last of the money has been spent the man 
departs to the wilderness for another long period to 
accumulate the wherewithal to again return to home 
idleness. The living expenses of a family are not very 
great. Such foods as they use are cheap, and they get 
along with an extremely scanty supply of clothing. 
Laborers wear sandals, and the children go barefoot 
much of the time. There are only a few really sharp 
days, even in winter, and some of the poorer boys get 
along without any shoes at all. 



1 




Houseivives at their washing 



On the Banks of the Rio Grande 93 

The biggest structure in the town on the Mexican 
side of the river is a bull-ring, where every few weeks a 
crowd gathers to witness a bull-fight. Sunday mornings 
are comparatively sacred, and most of the women and 
children attend mass. Quite a number of the young 
men are also at church, perhaps attracted by the pres- 
ence of the young women; but the older men who go 
are few. Instead, you find many of them watching a 
cock-fight which is a regular Sunday morning feature 
in the Mexican town, and much of their hard-earned 
money changes hands in the betting. If there is a bull- 
fight later in the day they resort thither, where they are 
joined by a numerous concourse of those who have been 
to church. Antonio regarded bull-fighting as a superla- 
tive sport. He said it was very seldom a man was seri- 
ously injured, and those darts that were stuck into the 
creatures did not hurt much; and as for the killing of 
the bull at the last that was quickly over. 

Gambling is another favorite Mexican recreation. 
The game is usually for small sums, and to play half an 
hour for a stake of twenty-five cents is quite usual. 
But though as a rule they do not play as rashly as Amer- 
ican gamblers, yet a well-to-do Mexican will sometimes 
risk considerable amounts. If he loses, his relatives 
look on it as an accident of fate, and they will often all 
contribute to restore to him the amount he squandered. 

The Mexicans have two Independence Days to cele- 
brate, and our Fourth of July makes still another for 



94 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

the dwellers on the north bank of the river. Freedom 
from Spanish oppression was won in 1810 and is com- 
memorated on Sept. 1 6th; and the escape from the 
yoke of France in 1862 is celebrated on the fifth of May. 
There are fireworks and noise and music, and in the 
Mexican town they have a parade late in the afternoon, 
and finally all the people gather for an evening prom- 
enade on the plaza. 

A very interesting phase of Mexican life is found in 
the wedding customs. When a young man and young 
woman have concluded that they want to marry, formal 
application must be made to the girl's parents. This 
falls to the lot of the boy's father, who writes a letter, or 
if he cannot write, the lad or someone else writes in his 
name, substantially as follows: 

" Being that your daughter is a worthy girl, my son 
has come to me and tells me that he wishes to marry 
her, and I, discharging the duty of a father according 
to the laws of our church, and also to comply with the 
rules of good society, write to ask that your daughter 
may unite in matrimony with my son. She has the 
qualities that will make any man happy, and I hope to 
have a favorable answer from you." 

The missive is inclosed in a big, official-looking en- 
velope, and then wrapped in a white silk handkerchief 
which is a present to the girl. With this letter in their 
charge the parents of the young man make an evening 
call on the parents of the young woman. But they do 



On the Banks of the Rio Grande 95 

not discuss the subject about which they are most con- 
cerned. When they are leaving they hand over the 
letter and say they will call for an answer in a week or 
two. If the girl's parents do not favor the match they 
talk her out of it and write a negative reply. But if 
everything is all right they say the wedding can be 
celebrated as soon as convenient. 

When the young man has been in due form accepted 
he is supposed to begin at once to support his bride, 
though she continues to live with her parents. Perhaps 
he gives so much a day in money, or, if very poor, takes 
to her the necessities for her subsistence. He might 
even turn over to her all his cash and portable belong- 
ings, confiding in her prudence to have most of them 
left for their mutual use when they start housekeeping. 
Hitherto the couple have had scarcely any opportunity 
to talk privately together, but now they see each other 
as often as they please. If there is only one room in the 
bride's house her relatives go visiting at the neighbor's 
when the young man calls. "So the two are quite 
happy," as Antonio said, "until they are married, and 
then their troubles begin." 

If the girl belongs to a family that is "pretty well 
fixed" she has three dresses for the wedding night. At 
the church ceremony she is in full white. After she 
returns to the house she dons a dress of a sky blue tint 
or other delicate color, and in this dances till midnight. 
Then she puts on red. The ball continues till daylight. 



96 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

when the revelers depart, and the bride and groom go 
to the house where they intend to hve. 

The people are superstitious and are great believers 
in witchcraft. " I knew of a woman who was sick here," 
said Antonio, "and they took a right black chicken, 
killed it, and soaked it in kerosene, put on some chile 
powder, and then burned it, feathers and all, on the 
floor. Of course there was a strong smoke, and they 
held the sick woman so her head was in it and she'd 
breathe as much as possible. But she didn't get well." 

A death is at once made known through the crying 
and wailing that proceed from the home of the bereaved, 
and the house is soon full of neighbors, who continue to 
stay about in strong force until after the funeral. Whis- 
key is furnished by the afflicted family, and the occa- 
sion is more jovial than serious to most of the crowd. 

An excursion which I made from Eagle Pass, and 
recall with special pleasure, was to a rustic village on 
the Mexican side of the river. Antonio went with me, 
and we walked. At first the dusty roadway kept to the 
depths of a hollow through a monotonous wood of mes- 
quite where the mocking birds warbled, and the red- 
birds whistled. Later we emerged onto stony hills 
dotted with sagebrush and big thorny clumps of cactus. 
Here we met a flock of two or three hundred milch 
goats grazing along in the care of a medieval looking 
shepherd. Another mile brought us to a spot where we 
overlooked a luscious, wooded valley with a little river 



On the Banks of the Rio Grande 97 

winding through it, and we could see cultivated lands 
and adobe houses. When we descended to the river we 
found by the shore many groups of washerwomen. 
There they knelt scrubbing away, some with a wide 
board slanting into the swift current, others using a 
shallow, partly submerged box. They had soap, and 
they had fires to heat water, and the children ran about 
wading and paddling. It was quite idyllic. 

At several spots were fords, where the teams and 
horseback riders waded through, and we followed a 
path in the rank grass and jungles of cane to find a 
bridge farther up the stream. This bridge proved to 
be only a narrow, precarious timber laid across, but we 
got safely to the other side, and there Antonio stopped 
to get a drink. lie said the water was not bad, but 
there were washerwomen above as well as below, and 
it looked too soapy to tempt me. 

The village was an odd, half-ruinous hamlet, and 
the home premises were separated from the highway 
by walks of adobe, or fences of cane. At one house 
into which I looked was a man sitting on the floor mak- 
ing bird-cages, and he had numerous gay feathered 
captives all about the apartment and the yard. He was 
a handsome, alert, bright-eyed fellow who made bird- 
catching his business. In the village gardens grew figs 
and peaches and grapes, and great wide-spreading pecan 
trees flourished along the stream. All things indeed 



98 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

appeared so green and flourishing that it seemed as if 
even poverty in such surroundings must hold a good 
deal of happiness. 

Note. — Anyone journeying through Texas toward Mexico or the 
far southwest should stop at San Antonio. It has a marked attraction 
in its delightful climate, and, though thriving and modem in most 
ways, is not without certain interesting Mexican traits and features. 
No other Texan town can rival the part it has played in the state's 
history, and its age is attested by several old Spanish Missions that 
survive in the vicinity. They belong to a remote past that now seems 
but a dream. One of these old mission churches, the Alamo, fronting 
on a plaza of the same name in the heart of the city, has perhaps the 
most tragic fascination of any building in this country; for here in 
1836 a beleaguered band of one hundred and eighty Americans met 
an untimely death at the hands of the Mexicans. Texas had been a 
part of Mexico, but had recently revolted and proclaimed itself an 
independent republic. This action aroused great enthusiasm in the 
United States, and many went to aid the Texans in their struggle for 
liberty. Among these was Davy Crockett, the most famous rifle-shot 
of his day, and such a successful hunter that his skill was proverbial. 
He came to San Antonio and joined a little band of other Americans 
who had fortified themselves in the Alamo. About the same time 
Santa Anna, the dictator of Mexico, arrived with an army of four 
thousand men and laid siege to the ancient thick-walled mission build- 
ing. Day after day the defenders withstood the attacking host, but 
at last breaches were made in the outer defences through which the 
Mexicans made a successful charge. The frontiersmen then retreated 
to the inner building where a desperate hand to hand conflict ensued. 
After the Americans had fired their long rifles, they used them as clubs, 
and fought with their knives and revolvers. The unequal contest 
reeled to and fro between the shattered walls until gradually the de- 
fenders were all killed. Crockett was one of the last to fall. Wounded, 
andjinged around by the bodies of the men he had slain, he continued 







\^ ~ V": >' ''-' 













On the Banks of the Rio Grande 99 

to face the foe with his back to the wall. Then he, too, was shot down, 
and the fight was soon over. 

But as the story of the combat spread, more and more Americans 
flocked to the aid of the Texans until they had a force of eleven hun- 
dred men. Then they assailed the Mexican army with the cry, "Re- 
member the Alamo," and won an overwhelming victory that secured 
the independence of the frontier republic. 

Aside from the Alamo, it has always seemed to my fancy that the 
Rio Grande was one of the most notable attractions of the state, and 
there is a certain satisfaction in a first hand acquaintance with the 
river, even if the stream is less impressive in size and surroundings 
than its name would lead one to suppose. As for the life along its 
banks, that is quite alluring, and a few days can be spent very satis- 
factorily at Eagle Pass; or, perhaps with just as good possibilities of 
sight-seeing, at El Paso, where the hotel accommodations are excep- 
tionally fine. Just across the river at both places is an old Mexican 
town where the quaint homes, costumes and manners of the people 
are so different from those of our own land that they have for the 
traveller the keenest interest. 



VI 

PUEBLO LIFE IN NEW MEXICO 

MUCH of New Mexico seems to the casual ob- 
server a half-naked and stony wilderness where 
only the scantiest population can ever find 
subsistence. But there is a vast amount of good land 
that only needs irrigation to make it productive and 
beautiful; and by utilizing the streams fully and get- 
ting artesian water from below the surface the aspect of 
the region may be changed materially. By the time 
this possibility is realized to any marked extent the 
pueblo life now characteristic of a large portion of the 
country will be a memory of the past. Even as things 
are the picturesque conditions that make the Pueblo 
Indians and their villages so interesting are giving way 
to the white man's civilization, and their homes and 
habits are fast being modified. 

Several of the pueblos are right on the line of the rail- 
road. Of these, Laguna is perhaps best worth seeing, 
and moreover it is the point of departure for visiting 
Acoma, which in situation and in primitiveness is the 
most fascinating pueblo in all the Southwest. I made 
the fifteen mile journey from Laguna to Acoma in a 



Pueblo Life in New Mexico 10 1 

light farm wagon accompanied by an Indian who 
served both as guide and driver. According to this 
Indian the road was a very good one; but I concluded 
he meant in comparison with others in the region. 
Sometimes we dragged slowly along through sand ruts, 
sometimes bumped over a rough shoulder of rock, and 
there were sudden gullies and steep hills, and stretches 
of hardened clay full of wheel tracks and hoof prints. 

The scenery was rather forbidding. All about, at 
frequent intervals, rose the mesas with their flat tops 
and their sides strewn with boulders that had fallen 
from above. Some of them were mere hills, others 
mountainous in size and height. The half-barren land 
between was dotted with bushy cedars, very thick- 
stemmed at the ground, but soon tapering off, and 
always dwarfed in stature. At last we descended into 
a big level valley that looked like the floor of some old 
lake. It was thinly grassed, and numerous flocks of 
sheep, horses and cattle were grazing on it. Each flock 
of sheep included a number of black ones, and still 
more variety was added by the presence of several 
goats, which are valued not only for their milk, but as a 
protection to the sheep from wild animals. The coyotes 
follow the flocks of sheep very persistently, and the old 
goats stand guard, and fight the enemy, if necessary. 

On ahead of us we could now see what is known as 
"The Enchanted Mesa," a vast castle-like rock rising 
with perpendicular walls from the floor of the plain to 



102 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

a height of four hundred and thirty feet. Its great size 
and ragged crags make it one of the most impressive 
natural wonders on the continent. Higher and higher 
it loomed as we drew nearer, and its name and the 
strange legends that have been told about it seemed 
quite in keeping with its peculiar character. According 
to one of the legends the pueblo of Acoma formerly 
occupied this height, and the path by which the people 
went up and down followed a crevice where a huge por- 
tion of the face of the precipice had partially separated 
from the main mass. One day, while all of the inhabi- 
tants except three sick women were at work in the 
fields on the plain below, there came a sudden storm, 
and the deluge of rain, or the lightning, sent the leaning 
ledge crashing down to the base of the mesa. The path 
was destroyed, and the three sick women perished be- 
yond reach of aid on the then inaccessible cliff, and the 
rest of the community sought a new place for their 
village. 

Several exploring parties in recent years have been to 
the summit of the great rock. The first of these, led by 
an Eastern college professor, laid siege to the mesa with 
a mortar and a number of miles of assorted ropes, sup- 
plemented by pulleys, a boatswain's chair and a pair 
of horses. Later parties have scaled the height aided 
only by a half dozen lengths of six foot ladders. They 
scrambled up a considerable portion of the distance 
over the loose stones at the sides of the precipice, and 




t^ 



Pueblo Life in New Mexico 103 

went still father up a narrow gorge. Presently the lad- 
ders became necessary, but only in one or two places 
did they have to put all six together. Nevertheless, the 
ascent was arduous, and at the steepest points somewhat 
perilous. 

On top is an area of twelve acres that is almost bare 
rock. The explorers find there bits of broken pottery, 
stone axes and arrowheads, and ornaments made of 
wild hogs' tusks. The only indication of buildings is a 
regular arrangement of loose stones which evidently 
were the foundation of a round room. That the mesa 
was ever the site of a pueblo seems doubtful. More 
likely it was used simply as a place of refuge for small 
parties cut off from retreat to the main village by 
marauding enemies. 

Three miles beyond, at the end of the valley on an- 
other wild mesa, is the pueblo of Acoma, a place of 
about half a thousand inhabitants. There it has been 
for seven hundred years, probably presenting from the 
beginning almost the identical appearance it does today. 
From a distance you would think the long continuous 
lines of adobe walls were a part of the mesa itself rising 
to a slightly greater height, but as you draw nearer you 
see occasional little chimneys and windows. The lofty 
table rock on which it stands is scarcely less romantic 
than the Enchanted Mesa, and the savage crags seem 
to have been carved by thunderbolts. 



104 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

At first sight no way presents itself of cHmbing the 
precipitous sides; yet the Indians have no less than ten 
trails up different crevices, two of which are practical 
for horses. We, however, stopped with our team at 
one side of the mesa, where rose, here and there, isolated 
brown pillars and ledges — gigantic statues of nature's 
own making. About the base of them were rude cedar 
fences and a few hovels where the Indians kept their 
milch animals at night. Beside one of these corral 
clusters we unhitched our horses and put them in a hut. 
Then we ascended a sand drift that rose far up against 
the cliff; and when that ended clambered on up a nar- 
row crevice which twisted this way and that, and some- 
times passed over a strewing of boulders and sometimes 
beneath one lodged between the walls of the ravine. 
Steps had been rudely chipped out at the steepest points, 
and little pocket-like holes made in the adjoining cliff 
to grip with the hand. 

The top of the mesa is a gentle slope of solid rock 
with a somewhat irregular surface. In two or three 
places are deep hollows where the rain water collects in 
little ponds, and this is the town's source of supply for 
drinking, cooking and washing. The water looked 
rather dubious, but I was assured that impurities set- 
tled to the bottom and left it clean and palatable. 

A church and three parallel lines of homes consti- 
tute the village. Each series of homes rises in several 
terraces, and the ascent to the top of the first terrace is 



Pueblo Life in New Mexico 105 

made by great rough outside ladders. To climb to the 
upper terraces, however, a few stone steps often do ser- 
vice. The original purpose of this type of architecture 
was protection against enemies; for the first story was 
without doors or windows, and when the ladders v/ere 
drawn up the pueblos were safe from the assaults of 
their rudely armed, savage neighbors. 

The walls are of stone laid in mud, and are daubed 
over smooth with mud inside, and frequently outside 
also. In constructing the roofs pine is used for the 
large beams, and across these cedar poles are laid close 
together. Next comes a layer of rushes and grass and 
the spiny leaves of the yucca. Then clay mud mixed 
with broken bits of wheat straw is put on. In a pro- 
longed dry spell the roof is apt to crack, and unless the 
cracks are mended the rain soaks through and trickles 
down on the floor where it muddies up everything. 
Sheets of crystal gypsum serve for windows, the 
largest of which are about twelve by eighteen inches. 
They are windows of a single pane set solidly in an 
aperture of the wall. 

The dwellings have from two to eight rooms, includ- 
ing such as are used for storage, and these are not nearly 
as gloomy as one might expect, for they are kept thor- 
oughly whitewashed. One of the largest apartments is 
the living-room. It is warmed by a fireplace — not a 
very economical method of heating, perhaps; but the 
walls are so thick, and there is such lack of ventilation 



io6 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

that a httle fuel goes a long way. Wood is plentiful on 
the rough lands around, and the Indians can get all 
they want for the trouble of cutting and drawing it, or 
carrying it on their backs as they sometimes do. Scrub 
cedar is used chiefly, because that is most accessible; 
but pine is preferred when it can be had, for it burns 
with almost no smoke. 

Across one end of the living-room a long pole is sus- 
pended from the rafters by thongs of rawhide. On this 
is hung all the extra clothing, blankets, belts, and some 
tanned buckskin not yet made into garments. Certain 
family heirlooms in the form of necklaces are likewise 
hung on the pole where they will attract the admiration 
of visitors. Some of these are very old and are made of 
fragments of seashells and black and cream colored 
stones shaped into beads. The best of them are worth 
fifteen or twenty horses. 

A single sleeping apartment does for an entire family. 
The beds are mattresses of wool laid on the floor. There 
is never much circulation of air in the room, and if the 
weather is cold it is shut up tight and the fireplace fur- 
nishes the only ventilation. In warm weather, how- 
ever, the Pueblo folk often sleep out on the terrace. 

To descend to the lower rooms there is a trap-door 
and ladders. Climb down, and you find corn stored in 
a heap on the floor, and the wheat in big bins of plas- 
tered stone. Here, too, is the same sort of truck that 
white people usually relegate to the garret — broken 




The ladders that give access to the upper stories 



Pueblo Life in New Mexico 107 

tools and furniture, discarded clothing and whatever 
other useless things would be in the way in the upper 
rooms. 

The young people are inclined to adopt white ways 
and to buy home conveniences that were formerly lack- 
ing. For instance, probably half the families now have 
tables; but it used to be the universal habit to eat on 
the floor, seated on a few little stools or blocks of wood, 
or blankets, while the bowls, platters and other pottery 
containing the food were distributed handily around. 

The sanitary arrangements of the homes are not all 
they might be; yet the women sweep out daily, and 
there is an annual clean-up of the whole town when 
refuse and filth are carted oft, walls whitewashed, and 
everything made as spick and span as the antique con- 
ditions of the town will allow. 

In clothing, the Indians are gradually donning the 
garments of the whites, and so far as the men are con- 
cerned the transformation has often been complete. 
The elders of the tribe, however, still occasionally put on 
blankets and colored turbans. Blanket wearing is the 
rule with the women, but their gowns are of civilized 
cloth, and shoes and stockings are replacing the moc- 
casins and leg-windings of buckskin. These buckskin 
leg-windings are supposed to have been devised as a 
protection against snakes, and the present-day wearers 
retain them as a matter of fashion. Yet, in summer, 
they find the buckskin so uncomfortably warm that 
they are apt to take it off" and go barefoot. 



io8 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

The people are peaceful and thrifty. Those Indian 
tribes that roamed the mountains and plains have be- 
come wards of the government, but the Pueblo Indians 
have maintained a self-supporting integrity. They 
irrigate in the valleys, and raise such staples as corn and 
wheat, and a variety of garden vegetables, apples, plums 
and other fruit. 

One of the picturesque incidents of the harvest is the 
wheat threshing. A level circle of ground is prepared 
with a surface of clay that is wet slightly and beaten 
and walked over till it is perfectly hard and smooth. 
After inclosing it with a fence of cedar poles, all the 
grain belonging to one farmer is arranged in the center 
in a big loose pile, probably not less than six yards in 
diameter, leaving about eight feet between it and the 
fence. The threshing is accomplished by driving a dozen 
or so horses around the circuit, beginning about nine 
in the morning. A squad of men and boys is on hand, 
armed with whips to chase the horses, and the central 
pile gradually works down so that all the ears are trodden 
out. By twelve o'clock the threshing is done, and in 
the afternoon the straw is thrown into a pile outside of 
the fence, and the wheat cleaned up and everything 
made ready for threshing the next man's crop on the 
morrow. The grain is separated from the chaff some 
windy day by throwing it up in the air with wooden 
shovels. 



Pueblo Life in New Mexico 109 

Dogs and poultry abound in the village; for every 
family keeps about a dozen fowls and very likely half 
that number of dogs. One may often meet an Indian 
on horseback with three or four curs ranging along in 
his wake. The Indians have great herds of sheep that 
wander among the mesas the year through, and they 
have many horses and cattle. Certain kinds of wild 
grass in the Southwest cure on the stalk, and this hay 
which nature furnishes, and nibblings of sagebrush and 
cactus keep the creatures from perishing in the lean 
months. The rainy season comes in July and August, 
after which the grass flourishes and there is abundance 
of feed through the fall. The only creatures that are 
provided with winter shelter are the horses and such 
cows and goats as are milked. For the horses rude 
stables are constructed, but the cows and goats get along 
with corrals. Alfalfa and oats are raised to feed these 
animals; and the corn fodder is saved and thrown up 
on the stable roofs to keep the stock from devouring it 
all at once or trampling it in the mire. The creatures 
get but scanty fare at best and are sure to be decidedly 
thin by spring. The sale of wool and of the sheep and 
other creatures is the chief source of the Indians' in- 
come. Something is added to this by the women who 
make pottery and dispose of it at the railway stations to 
travellers on the trains, or to traders; and a portion of 
the men work for wages. 



no Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

A good deal of the money that comes into their hands 
is not spent wisely; but the same might be said of the 
expenditures of any class the world over. They gamble 
in a small way, buy candy and jewelry, cookstoves, 
sewing-machines, and brass bedsteads, and make curi- 
ous misfits in introducing modern articles into their 
ancient homes and half savage habits of life. 

Their amusements are more varied than the outsider 
would suspect, and, in particular, they enjoy races, both 
on foot and on horseback. One peculiar contest of 
speed and expertness consists in two rival parties going 
in opposite directions and each kicking a stick about a 
foot long and an inch in diameter over a course agreed 
on. This course may be anywhere from five to twenty 
miles long. 

In the fall some day is fixed on for a rabbit hunt. The 
young men, to the number of about a score, ride off on 
horseback armed with clubs, which they hurl at every 
rabbit they sight. Each rider is eager to outdo his com- 
rades and get the largest number, and they have a wild 
time chasing and heading off the rabbits. If fortune 
favors they may secure an average of two or three apiece, 
but on the other hand the whole crowd may kill only a 
half dozen. 

A hunt of a more serious sort, yet scarcely less en- 
joyed, occurs in November, when three or four parties 
with about ten in each go off some fifty miles in different 
directions and camp and hunt deer. 




The governor of the village 



Pueblo Life in New Mexico III 

For real fun, however, from the Indian viewpoint, 
nothing quite equals a special race it is customary to 
have on St. John's Day. The start is made on a level 
piece of ground near the village, where a live rooster has 
been buried in the sand all but its head. From fifteen 
to thirty racers mount their horses, go back from the 
rooster about two hundred yards, and at a signal put 
their steeds into a run. As they dash past the rooster 
each makes a grab at the bird until someone gets him. 
Then on they go in a mad rush engaged in a lively con- 
test to gain possession of the captive chanticleer. The 
bird may change hands a number of times, and the 
fellow who brings him back to the starting-point is the 
victor. 

After the harvest is finished dances are frequent until 
spring. Many of these dances are religious and com- 
memorate some old tradition, and the participants 
dress up in all their barbaric glory. Other dances are 
merely social. There is not much movement in them. 
The dancers gather in a room and stand facing each 
other, one or two rows of men on this side, and similar 
rows of women on the other. Then they jump up and 
down, with certain changes of step, keeping time to the 
energetic music of drums and their own chanting. 

One other pleasure that should be mentioned is the 
nutting expeditions. There are great forests of pines 
within twelve or fifteen miles, and thither the Indians 
resort in the late autumn and erect their tents on the 



112 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

mountain sides, a number of famiHes grouped together, 
mostly women and children. They pick up thousands 
of bushels and have great sport. The nuts are nearly 
all consumed in the months to come by the Indians 
themselves. They like them best roasted, and evening 
is the favorite time for eating them. It is customary to 
set out the nuts when visitors happen in, and while those 
present feast they gossip and perhaps repeat the ancient 
folk tales of their race. They are great story-tellers, 
and some of the old men — especially certain of the 
numerous medicine men — are professionals in the art. 
The stories are a mingling of fact and fiction. Some of 
them have to do with long journeys and adventurous 
hunting excursions. Others are narratives of fights 
with the Navajos and of the deeds of the tribal heroes. 
These heroes are still human in their attributes if they 
lived within a generation or two, but before that they 
are demigods. 

In the presence of white men the Indians are usually 
silent and undemonstrative, but among themselves they 
carry on much lively chatter that is both loquacious and 
humorous, and they will often stay up half the night 
over their small talk. 

The climate is favorable to health; and now that 
the Indians are no longer swept off wholesale by small- 
pox, every hardy child has a fair prospect of a long life. 
Rheumatism, pneumonia, and diphtheria are perhaps the 
most prevalent diseases. The people have a good deal 



Pueblo Life in New Mexico 113 

of faith in the curative properties of roots and herbs, 
and when these fail call in a medicine man. The 
physician tries to effect a cure by incantations; and he 
may resort to breathing on the patient or will use his 
eagle feathers to brush away the pain, or he will stroke 
the sick person with a bear's claw, which is another 
implement of his trade. Often his labors continue for 
hours at a time. His reward is generally a present of 
provisions or some article of clothing. 

Each tribe has its governor and other officers, elected 
annually. The voting is done at a public meeting where 
the supporters of the rival candidates stand up in turn to 
be counted. In the evening, after the election, there is 
a big dance in some private house that has a large 
dining-room. It lasts most of the night. Once a month 
the council holds a session to transact public business 
and settle quarrels. This is a daytime meeting, and 
every official present receives a fee of fifty cents. Money 
for needful expenses comes largely from fines for drunk- 
enness or assaults, but once in a while a small assess- 
ment is levied. Roads, bridges, fences, and irrigating 
ditches are taken care of by each man contributing a 
certain amount of labor on them yearly. All the land is 
owned in common, but any family can have set off to it 
as much as it will cultivate. If this land is allowed to 
lie idle for three years it reverts to the pueblo. 

When the first Spaniards invaded the region the 
Pueblos seem to have accepted their rule and religion 



114 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

without any very strenuous resistance. But in 1681 a 
plot was formed to throw off the yoke. A day was set 
for the massacre of all Caucasians in the pueblo country. 
Four hundred persons including soldiers, civilians, and 
priests were killed, and the rest fled for their lives. 
Churches were pillaged and torn down and mines filled 
up. Three priests who were in Acoma at the time of 
the outbreak were taken to a high point on the edge of 
the mesa and compelled to jump. Two were thus 
killed outright, but the gown of the third expanded into 
a sort of parachute which broke the force of his fall and 
saved him from injury. The Indians thought his escape 
from death was due to heavenly intervention and they 
gave him his liberty. 

It soon happened that the leader of the revolt, intoxi- 
cated by success, insisted on being paid divine honors. 
Hero worship of this sort was not to the liking of the 
rest of the Indians, and dissensions were a result. Be- 
sides, the different tribes got to squabbling among 
themselves. So in a dozen years the Spaniards had 
reconquered the pueblos. Since then they have been 
at peace with the whites, but have suffered much at the 
hands of the Navajos and Apaches. They are naturally 
peaceful, but they would fight hardily in defence of 
their homes; and when they were on the walls of their 
Gibraltar-like towns with their bows and arrows, lances 
and war-clubs they were by no means to be despised. 
Their savage foes, therefore, confined their efforts to 
cutting off small parties and stealing sheep. Some- 




An oven 



Pueblo Life in New Mexico 115 

times the Apaches would pick up a stray child. This 
child was made a member of the captor's tribe, and a 
good vigorous boy was always considered a welcome 
addition to the tribal strength. 

The Pueblo Indians gave our own government valu- 
able help in its operations against the nomadic Navajos, 
both in fighting and as scouts. Their natural capacity, 
energy, and thrift place them decidedly above the aver- 
age of red men, and their homes and ways of life are 
strikingly original and interesting. This is especially 
true of Acoma which stands on its rugged mesa just as 
it has for centuries past, basking in the summer suns 
and swept by the winter blasts, with that wild region 
around of fantastic rocks, curiously eroded pillars and 
great buttes. 

Another place in New Mexico possessing a peculiar 
attraction on account of its age is Sante Fe. It is the 
oldest European town in the United States, and it con- 
tains the oldest church and the oldest dwelling. These 
two structures adjoin each other and are impressive in 
their simplicity and evident antiquity. They are of 
thick-walled adobe, as are many other buildings in the 
town, which is as much Mexican as it is American in 
appearance and manners. It lies in a vast semi-arid 
basin with hills and lofty mountains at some distance. 
Little irrigating ditches network the town and there are 
luscious gardens and thriving trees. The inhabitants 
number only a few thousand and the place has much 



ii6 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

the character of a big lazy village. Its people like to 
loiter on the shadowy, green-turfed plaza and on the 
corridor-like sidewalks, across which the older buildings 
have extended pillared porticos. There has apparently 
never been any regular plan in the building of the city, 
and the streets wind, and zigzag, and jerk around 
corners in a most unexpected fashion. As a somewhat 
garrulous visitor whom I fell in with remarked: "You 
walk along and think you are going somewhere only to 
find you are going somewhere else. Oh, it's jiggety 
jog; but, by gracious! I like it." 

The speaker was a gray old man who had been a 
captain in the Civil War. Sante Fe's reputation as a 
health resort had drawn him thither, and he was de- 
lighted with its climate, its quaintness and the friendli- 
ness of its inhabitants. He had a cheerful greeting for 
everyone we met. Often he paused to shake hands 
with this one or that — to sympathize with a sick man, 
to pat a child on the head, to discuss history and re- 
ligion with some priest. 

"You couldn't use street cars here," he said in con- 
tinuing his comments on the character of the town, 
"unless they were made on an angle and a circle, be- 
cause the streets are so crooked. Why, there isn't a 
square corner in the city. You go along one street, and 
you run right up ag'in' a house. You try another and 
it takes you into a dooryard; and I was in one that 
ended like a wedge so I just had to turn around and 
come back. 



Pueblo Life in New Mexico 117 

"See those little burros with the loads of wood on 
their backs," said the captain pointing down the street 
with his cane. "The wood is all cut up ready for the 
stove, and the driver in charge peddles it from house to 
house. Each burro carries about two wheelbarrow 
loads, and they've come anywhere from five to twenty 
miles. A man or boy follows behind and tickles them 
up with a switch — any old way to get there. 

"But those peddlers are making an honest living. I 
recall back in Ohio a man who went around with a two- 
horse covered wagon, and on the sides was painted in 
big letters 'WHAT IS IT ? Admission 10 cents.' The 
fellow lived in the wagon and drove from place to place 
exhibiting an animal he had inside. You paid your 
ten cents and went up some steps behind, and when you 
saw the creature you'd say : 'Why, it looks like a ground- 
hog,' and that's what it was — nothing but a dirty Oregon 
ground-hog. And yet that man stirred up curiosity by 
his sign, and people would climb into his wagon and 
discuss and discuss what the animal really was. I sup- 
pose if I was to attempt a thing like that the sheriff 
would get me sure and put me in a lunatic asylum. But 
tricks go all right with some men." 

A wayside shrub attracted my companion's attention, 
and he broke off a twig, which he showed to the next 
man we met with a query as to its name. The man 
replied rather gruffly that he didn't know what the 
shrub was and didn't care. 



Il8 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

"You don't Hve in this town, I guess," commented 
the captain, and the man shook his head and walked on. 

"I knew he didn't," the captain declared, "or he 
wouldn't have answered a civil question like that. 
They're a fine people here, polite and intelligent and 
accommodating, and they have the best climate in the 
world. Back in Ohio it's an old saying that we have 
six months of v/inter and three months of late in the 
fall every year. But here, even in winter, most of the 
days are pleasant and comfortable. Then in summer, 
though the thermometer goes up as high as one hundred 
and twenty in the shade, they tell me it is a dry heat 
that don't trouble a person. A man may perspire, and 
a few drops fall from his face, but he don't get wringing 
wet as he would in the East. It's healthy here. You 
bet it is; and I never was anywhere that suited me 
better." 

So he went on in his own lively fashion expatiating on 
the charms of the old town, and in his opinion it evi- 
dently was not much inferior to the original Garden of 
Eden. 

Note. — New Mexico, in spite of its general aspect of arid and sun- 
burned monotony, has much to entice the traveller to pause and ob- 
serve it more in detail; but of its various attractions the pueblos are 
the most piquant and unusual. Some of these are very easy of access, 
though naturally such are less characteristic than those more remote. 
The many-chambered communal homes in the territory number over 
a score, and their inhabitants own nearly a million acres of land. 




fhc oU church at Santa be 



Pueblo Life in New Mexico 119 

Albuquerque is a good central point from which to start visiting the 
pueblos. Isleta, one of the most important, is only ten miles distant, 
right on the railroad. Laguna is fifty-six miles farther to the west, and 
is not only extremely interesting in itself, but is the nearest point of 
departure from the railway for Acoma and the Enchanted Mesa. 
Accommodations at Laguna are poor, but the trip to Acoma will 
amply reward one for a good deal of discomfort. The journey to it 
and back can easily be made in a day. Another noteworthy pueblo is 
Zuni, forty-five miles from Fort Wingate. 

For enjoyment of a different sort visit old Santa Fe. It offers ex- 
ceptional attractions in the way of climate, quaintness, age, historic 
associations, and excellent hotels. The town is only a few miles off 
the main line of east and west railroad, and merits much more atten- 
tion from travellers than it has had hitherto. 

Still another attraction of New Mexico is its weather. The typical 
day is absolutely cloudless, and the sun makes its journey across the 
vast blue dome of the sky without the least film of mist to obscure its 
brightness, and they have three hundred such days every year. 



VII 

AROUND pike's PEAK 

A GOOD many people go to the top of the Peak on 
foot," remarked a casual acquaintance soon after 
I reached Colorado Springs, near the base of 
the mountain; "but a person like you from the low- 
lying Eastern States couldn't do it. You are not used to 
high altitudes, and your breath would give out, and 
you'd be so sick and faint you'd have to turn back." 

What this man said proved to be my undoing, for I 
felt that I must find out for myself whether he was right 
or not. The mountain is a little over fourteen thousand 
feet high, and rises eight thousand above the village of 
Manitou where the climbing actually begins. There is 
a cog-wheel railroad for persons who choose to journey 
comfortably; and those otherwise minded usually 
trudge along the tracks. I started at noon to make the 
nine mile ascent. The trail at once became toilsomely 
steep. It followed up a ravine amid thin pine woods, 
and on the rocky slopes were many precariously- 
balanced boulders of mammoth size apparently ready 
to roll down and crush everything in their path. Quite 
a number of these wayside boulders were made strangely 



Around Pike's Peak I2i 

incongruous by having religious mottoes painted on 
them in big black letters. I suppose some pious indi- 
vidual had done this for the public good, with the idea 
that the surroundings would incline those who passed 
up and down to serious thoughts. The execution was 
rather rude, as will be seen by the following sample: 

He That Blieveth 
Shall B Saved 

He Who Does 

Not Shall B 

Damned 

Another ran in this wise — "Let the wicked forsake 
his way;" but some wag had added a letter which 
made it read, "Let the wicked forsake this way." 

For the first two miles I had the constant company 
of a mountain stream that made the air musical with 
its rushing and leaping, but presently I left the ravine 
and went on by a gentler grade across ragged upland 
with here and there an expanse of bog, or a little lake. 
When I approached the timber line the slant was again 
sharply upward. From here I could look far off over 
the neighboring giant heights and see the level prairie 
to the east with the cloud shadows floating across its 
illimitable expanse. Close about was the lonely wilder- 
ness, almost silent, save for the soughing of the wind 
through the dark evergreen foliage. 

By this time I was extremely tired, the muscles I used 
most were aching, and my heart was beating violently. 



122 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

Besides that, I was panting for breath, and I had to 
stop every Httle while to recuperate. Things became 
worse as I went on, and I longed to turn back; but the 
fact that I had been told I could not go to the top urged 
me on. Now I passed beyond the last of the woodland 
and was amid a waste of broken blocks of stone par- 
tially hidden by snow. Sometimes, too, there was snow 
in my path, which made the footing slippery and greatly 
aggravated my troubles. I would totter on a few steps 
and then stop, gasping and exhausted. If I sat down 
I felt as though I never wanted to get up. The sky was 
increasingly cloudy, and once or twice I was enveloped 
in a filmy snowsquall. But in spite of the difficulties I 
at length reached the top. In utter weariness I crouched 
down near the low, stone summit house, and looked off 
on the wide mystery of mountains and prairie, warmed 
in places by the sunshine, and in other places blue with 
the cold cloud shadows. 

I did not care to loiter. It was five o'clock, night was 
near, and I had that long descent to make. After a few 
minutes I rose lamely and started, and at first the change 
from climbing was a relief, I went along with hasty 
strides, digging my heels into the snow, and was re- 
joiced over my progress. But the air was becoming 
decidedly chilly, the wind swept unhindered across the 
bare slopes, and my hands grew stiff and numb. Sev- 
eral times I had to pause and warm them, and affairs 
did not improve until I reached the timber line. Then 




A balanced rock in The Garden of the Gods 



Around Pike's Peak 123 

the route was less exposed and the air not so keen. My 
steps were again lagging now, and I had to pause fre- 
quently to give my aching muscles a little respite, and to 
ease my toes, which rebelled at the incessant cramming 
into the tips of my shoes. The evening gloom was by 
this time so dense that I was constrained to step care- 
fully, lest I should plunge down into some unexpected 
depth. Nor could I help recalling that among the deni- 
zens of the mountains were certain wild animals whom 
it might not be pleasant to meet. Finally I was en- 
couraged by the sight of lights in the hollow below, and 
yet I was not quite certain but that these might be in 
the infernal regions, I had descended so long. When I 
dragged myself into the village it was with a vow that 
I would never make such a climb again for the rest of 
my days. 

The vicinity of the Peak is famous as a summer 
resort, and most of the mountain climbers go up in 
warm weather. Pedestrians ordinarily start in the 
evening, for during the day, the heat in the narrow 
chasm which the route at first follows, and the glare of 
the sun on the rocks make walking almost out of the 
question. Most of those who start do not realize what 
they are undertaking. In the clear Colorado air the 
mountain top looks much nearer than it really is, and 
the walker begins his climb with brisk cheerfulness; 
but by the time he attains his goal he is ready to swear 
that the mountain is ten miles high. The warmth in the 



124 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

valley is uncomfortable; and yet at the summit the 
thermometer goes down nearly to zero every night. So 
each climber carries a blanket and a supply of coats 
and sweaters. A crowd starts out each evening. They 
are all happy and friendly, and the various groups 
will be stopping here and there along the way to build 
fires and make coffee. 

"Everything goes pretty well," said one informant, 
"till you get to the timber line. Just beyond is what is 
called Windy Point, where a breeze is always blowing, 
and it is so cold you are chilled right through, no matter 
how much clothing you put on. Lots of people, when 
they get that far, hunt up a spot where they can escape 
from the gale, and then make a fire, loaf a while, and go 
back down. Those that keep on wrap up as warm as 
they can, and as they walk along they think at every 
curve they'll see the house at the top, and when they 
find still another lonely stretch ahead they sigh, 'Oh, 
my!' and stand and rest while they look mournfully up 
the long steep climb. The first part of the way every- 
one is jolly and talkative, but the last part they're all 
sour and sad. They go up to see the sun rise, but they're 
apt to be too tired to really enjoy the sight. The first 
thing they do when they get to the top is to go into the 
summit house; for it's as cold as the dickins outside. 
Some think they're freezin ' to death, and hug close up to 
the stove. That invariably makes 'em sick, while if they 
warm up gradually they're all right. When I was there 



Around Pike's Peak 125 

last and they began to call, 'Hurry and go out — the 
sun is coming up;' one sick fellow said: 'Oh, goodness! 
everything else has come up already, and I'm going to 
stay where I am.' Of course, if the sky is perfectly 
clear, the sun just rises, and that's all there is to it; but 
if there are clouds the sight is really grand." 

The authentic history of the mountain dates from 
November 13, 1806, when Major Zebulon Pike, leading 
a small exploring party of United States soldiers, sighted 
the white crest from the far east. It required ten days 
more to reach the base, and after vigorous attempts to 
scale the mountain Pike abandoned the project with 
the declaration that: "No human being could ascend to 
its pinnacle." 

The mountain gave Pike, and the other pathfinders 
and pioneers who followed in his footsteps, the first 
glad signal that there were limits to the dreary waste of 
plain. It is an outlying sentinel of the Rockies, and no 
other peak of these mountains equals it in fame or can 
rival it as a continental landmark. Considering its 
height one would expect it to be heavily snow-capped, 
but there is not enough moisture in the atmosphere to 
make much precipitation. The snow gathers in perma- 
nent drifts in the ravines, yet the white mantle as a 
whole is usually rather scanty and tattered. 

The first permanent settlers of the Colorado moun- 
tain region came in 1858. They were attracted by the 
reports of California emigrants that gold had been 



126 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

found in the sands of Cherry Creek near the present 
Denver. One of the men who came at that time told 
me the story of his experiences. "We had our prairie 
schooners," said he, "drawn by from two to eight yoke 
of oxen, and we were three months on the way after 
leaving the Missouri River. It was slow, tedious travel- 
ling. I suppose we saw more buffaloes on that trip than 
there was cattle in all the world. Some days the plains 
around would be black with them as far as the eye could 
reach, and when we turned our cattle out to graze we'd 
have to stand guard to keep the buffaloes from stamped- 
ing them. The creatures continued plentiful for more 
than a dozen years longer, and I've known engineers on 
the railroad to stop their trains to let a herd go past. 
They used to start from northern Texas in the spring 
and feed along to the Canada line. Then in the fall 
they'd drift back. But where one buffalo fed in those 
days we now raise a good beef animal that provides us 
with meat worth twenty times as much as that of a 
buffalo. People would shoot the buffaloes for sport 
from the railroad trains, and their carcasses were strewn 
everywhere along the tracks. Hunters killed a great 
many for meat or hides, and people came from all 
over the world, especially from England, simply to see 
how large a number they could kill. There'd be a party 
of English lords, perhaps, each man wanting to kill 
more than the others, and they'd shoot maybe a thou- 
sand a day and keep up the slaughter for a month. The 




fForkmu on the road 



Around Pike's Peak 127 

entire plains were covered with hunting parties, and the 
decomposition of the carcasses poisoned the air. There 
was nothing very thrilhng in the sport. It was about 
the same as to ride up beside a herd of cattle and go 
popping away. 

"Of course many buffaloes were also killed by the 
Indians. They had their annual hunts to lay in a supply 
of jerked meat; but they were out strictly for victuals, 
and when that want was supplied they quit, so their 
hunting alone had no appreciable effect in diminishing 
the great herds. They looked on it as a task similar to 
what farm work is to us. It seems to be only the civi- 
lized white men who kill for pleasure; and the ex- 
termination of the buffaloes was one of the Indians' 
greatest grievances against us. After the plains were 
clear of them the fertilizer companies had the bones 
gathered, and there'd be piles as big as a house waiting 
at the stations to be shipped. While the animals were 
plenty everyone all over the United States who owned a 
team had one or more buffalo robes, and you could get 
a fairly good one for a dollar and a half, and a really 
magnificent one for three dollars. 

"We brought grub to last for a year. If we failed to 
find gold in that time we intended to go back; and no 
matter how lucky we were we didn't want to stay per- 
manently in the country. We thought it was only fit 
for Indians. My idea was that we could go into a can- 
yon and find the pure gold sand which we would shovel 



128 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

into our wagons and then turn back East. I didn't 
expect I'd got to work hard. We prospected with pans, 
and when things looked promising we'd make sluices 
and rockers. At several places we laid out town sites. 
Somebody started a town named Auralia, and then a 
rival town was planned close by which we called Denver 
City. It was the most desolate spot on earth, pretty 
near, and we were afraid the name was about all there'd 
ever be to the place, and in order to boost it as much as 
we could we put 'City' on the end. I owned more town 
lots there than any other man, but I sold out within a 
few months. We didn't seem to light on the valuable 
gold deposits we hoped to find, and I became a kind of 
town speculator. Carpentering was my trade, and as 
soon as I heard of a new town site being laid out I'd 
rush there, build a cabin for myself, and get contracts 
to build others. 

"Those early cabins were just hovels with walls of 
logs, and the cracks chinked with small sticks and mud. 
The roofs were made of poles slanting down from the 
peak to the eaves and covered with grass and dirt. For 
the doors we'd split logs and hew 'em down to rough 
boards, bore holes and use wooden pins to fasten the 
boards together. The hinges were of wood or rawhide. 
We had no glass, and the window openings would be 
closed with an old sack. I got paid for my work, but 
most of the towns I was interested in played out. 



Around Pike's Peak 129 

"Nearly all of the people who came that first season 
or two were a good deal disgusted over the scarcity of 
gold. A party met me one day and asked: 'Well, how 
long you been here ?' 

" ' I come a year ago,' I says. 

"'If you are one of the fellers that's helped get up 
this Pike's Peak excitement,' they said, 'I guess we'll 
have to hang you.' 

" They were joking, but there was a feeling that they'd 
been fooled, and they called the gold attraction that 
brought 'em, 'the Pike's Peak humbug.' 

" Some arrived here with nothing to eat. We couldn't 
let 'em starve, and we'd divide with 'em; so they fared 
just as well as any of us. We could always get plenty 
of game, but flour, coffee and sugar were a dollar a 
pound. If food got scarce with us we'd usually rustle 
around and swap some town lots or mining claims for 
it. One man settled down near Denver and made a 
fortune raising potatoes. He was known as ' Potato 
Clark.' For one while I was sick with the scurvy from 
eating nothing but bacon and hard-tack and poor bread, 
and I went to Potato Clark's to stay where I could get 
cured by eating fresh vegetables. He probably raised 
twenty acres of potatoes that year, and I figured he got 
nine hundred bushels to the acre. When he dug 'em they 
lay so thick they more than covered the ground. Eating 
raw potatoes and onions drove out the scurvy, and I 
went back to the mountains. 



130 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

"Early in 1859 the first big gold find was made by a 
friend of mine named Gregory. He had been about 
the poorest man in the country until then, and he was 
satisfied to sell out for twenty thousand dollars and go 
back to his home in Georgia. That claim probably 
couldn't be bought for a million dollars today, after 
being worked allthe years since. Prospectors soon began 
to come in crowds from the East, and generally they had 
painted on the wagon cover, 'Pike's Peak or Bust.' 
They didn't need to bust on account of any serious 
danger to be encountered until 1864, when an Indian 
war broke out. The government sent an expedition 
against the savages, and I was one of the soldiers. We 
knew they'd got a camp down on Sand Creek, and we 
travelled three days and two nights to surprise 'em. It 
was about dawn when we got there, ani^ we rushed in 
and killed some fifteen hundred men, women, and chil- 
dren. Hardly a one got away alive. 

"When Colorado Springs was started in 1871 I joined 
in the enterprise, and that same year two of us climbed 
Pike's Peak. We went over much the same ground 
people do today, only then it was a pathless wilderness. 
There were lots of fallen trees to climb over, and stretches 
of swamp to toil through. Late in the day we got to the 
timber line, wrapped up in a blanket, and lay down. 
The next morning we went on, but every little while 
we'd stop exhausted, breath gone and hearts working 
like fire-pumps. I suppose the view from the top may 



Around Pike's Peak 131 

give pleasure to some people who make the chmb — as 
for me, I was so terribly fatigued I didn't care about 
anything except to return. That was comparatively 
easy, but the trip as a whole was the hardest task I ever 
undertook in my life, and I was lame for a month. I 
never could see much fun in climbing, anyway; and 
yet there are people over at Manitou who take their 
Alpinstocks and go rambling up and down the steep 
hills every day, and claim they enjoy it. 

"I was attracted by this region from the start. The 
bright sunny weather that prevailed just suited me, and 
if we had rain there was no mud, for the water was at 
once absorbed by the porous soil. The mountains also 
were an agreeable novelty compared with the country 
I was used to in the East. Back in my native state of 
Indiana the climate was as wretched as could be, the 
air was raw and damp, and there'd be a month at a 
time, almost, when you didn't cast a shadow, and there 
wasn't a hill in the state that could be seen at a distance 
of ten miles. The foundation of Colorado Springs' 
prosperity is its reputation as a resort for health and 
pleasure seekers. Otherwise, not enough natural 
resources exist within twenty miles to support a town of 
five hundred people." 

Among the scenic attractions of the neighborhood, 
the most widely known, aside from Pike's Peak, is 
*'The Garden of the Gods." This overspreads two or 
three miles of rough hills, and the growths for which 



132 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

the gods are responsible and which lend the Garden dis- 
tinction, consist of a great variety of fantastic pillars and 
ridges of rock, mostly of red sandstone, but with an 
occasional gray upthrust of gypsum. Several of the 
pinnacled and grottoed ridges are of very impressive 
size, the highest over three hundred feet; and in the 
lofty crannies numerous doves and swift-winged swal- 
lows have their nests. Down below, the prairie larks 
sing, and the robins hop about the ground, and you see 
an occasional magpie. But to me the greatest pleasure 
I enjoyed in the Garden was the view I had thence of 
the brotherhood of giant mountains clustering about 
the hoary Pike's Peak. 

To see the Peak in another aspect, and to get ac- 
quainted with life of a different sort from that at its 
eastern base, I journeyed to Cripple Creek, forty-six 
miles distant, high among the rugged ridges. The rail- 
road followed up canyons, and clung along the slopes, 
progressing by long curves so that in places we almost 
doubled on our course. Much of the time we were in a 
thin woodland of pines or aspens. The fires had run 
over a large portion of the heights, yet the timber on the 
burnt ground was not wholly ruined. In this dry 
climate decay is slow. A tree killed by the fire and left 
standing till it is thoroughly dry continues sound for 
tens of years. No doubt trees killed thus half a century 
ago are now being hauled from the forest to be used as 
lumber. 



Around Pike's Peak 133 

Cripple Creek is a city of six or eight thousand people 
in a wide mountain hollow. Not a tree grows along the 
steep, stony, rectangular streets; and the brick blocks 
of the business center, and the cottages and shacks that 
serve for dwellings are equally unshadowed. The en- 
vironing hills are scarcely less bare, and they shut out 
of sight the mountains that rise in imposing array at no 
great distance. The other towns in the group that make 
up this world-famous mining camp are most of them 
similarly situated in neighboring hollows within a radius 
of half a dozen miles. Usually the vicinity of the houses 
is strewn with tin cans and rubbish, while there often 
loom close at hand the towering dumps of broken rock 
from the mines. The inhabitants delve for gold. They 
have no thought for beauty. The dwellings are as a 
rule only one story high, and some have walls of logs. 
Serpentine paths and roadways wind up and down the 
hills, and lines of railway cut many a furrow, one above 
the other in the steep slopes. It is said that there is a 
frost at Cripple Creek every week in the year; but this 
is an exaggeration. In summer the grass grows green 
on the mountain sides, furnishing excellent grazing for 
the cattle, and those who choose can start gardens and 
raise a few vegetables. 

The first house in Cripple Creek was built in 1872 by 
a family of herders. The land was then unsurveyed, 
and they were simply squatters who owned only the 
improvements they put on the ground. These improve- 



134 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

ments consisted of the house and a few outbuildings, 
all of logs. They had fifteen hundred cattle, which 
ranged over a territory about eight miles long by four 
broad. I asked a member of the family whom I met, 
how the place got its name. 

"Well," he said, "soon after we came here, my 
brother fell off the house and got pretty badly mashed 
up. A little later, the horse that a cowboy who worked 
for us was riding r'ared up and keeled over backward 
breaking the fellow's leg. Then my father one day run 
across a buffalo calf in with the cows, and he was going 
to shoot the creature, but as he was drawing his pistol 
he in some way discharged it and maimed his hand. 
These accidents led the cowboys to call the little stream 
in the hollow, on the banks of which we lived. Cripple 
Creek. We stayed only three years and then disposed 
of most of our cattle, sold our buildings, and moved to 
another valley. 

"One of the boys in the family that bought us out got 
the idea that this was a gold-bearing country, and he 
was always prospecting. That stirred up some interest, 
and there was more or less searching for gold right along 
afterward. But the old-fashioned prospectors who 
looked around here condemned the region. The rock 
was porphery and granite, and gold had never been 
found in such rock; so the pioneer discoveries were 
made by tenderfoots who had no theories. Nothing 
important was brought to light till 1890, and that made 



Around Pike's Peak 135 

no excitement, for the experts continued to be pessimis- 
tic, and even after we were shipping two or three hun- 
dred thousand dollars worth of ore a month they still 
claimed that only a few chance veins existed, which 
would soon play out. But after a while the public got 
interested, and people were jumping in here from far 
and near. They staked the whole country. All you 
had to do to secure a claim was to blaze a tree or set up 
some sort of mark and run your lines fifteen hundred 
feet from there in one direction and three hundred in 
the other. Naturally the claims often overlapped each 
other. The first comer had the best rights, but there 
was lots of litigation. To hold your claim you had to 
sink a shaft ten feet deep, or in some way do a hundred 
dollars worth of work on it each year. You must also 
have discovered a vein of ore, but as any sort of a vein 
was considered an ore vein until it was proved otherwise 
that was no hindrance. Actual mining was not carried 
on very vigorously for several years. Most claim owners 
seemed content to incorporate companies for a million 
or two and make money selling stock. It was simply a 
boost business, and often the claims were good for noth- 
ing anyway. 

"The gold occurs here in streaks running from below 
upward. There seemed to have been a kind of golden 
blowout, and in one spot you'll find a vein of gold and 
a little beyond not a trace. The area of payrock appears 
to be limited to a patch about three miles across; but 



136 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

the country is full of prospect holes for ten miles around. 
That means a tremendous amount of wasted labor. 
Probably there was never a more profitable gold camp 
than this, and yet if we get on the average one dollar for 
ten expended we think we're doing well. However, the 
lucky fellows become immensely rich, and it's just a 
legitimate gamble. 

"The city here grew very fast when it got started, 
until by and by we had a fire that nearly destroyed it. 
The buildings were all of wood, but the trouble was 
with our volunteer fire department. Everyone was 
telling everyone else what to do, and no one was doing 
anything effective. The fire started in a shack with a 
corrugated iron roof, and the boys wasted their energy 
playing the water on that red hot iron and hearing it 
sizz, instead of getting inside to business. So the fire 
spread and wiped out a big piece of the town." 

Another blow to the prosperity of the region was the 
great strike of 1904. I frequently heard of this, and 
differing opinions were expressed, but no one seemed 
to take much pride in any of the events connected with 
it. One miner who talked with me very frankly said the 
relations of the employers and their help had from the 
first been far from satisfactory. "We had a rough, wild 
crowd here," said he, "and some of 'em thought nothing 
of killing a man and then throwing him down an old shaft 
where he'd never be heard from. There was lots of 
high-grading going on — that is, there were fellows steal- 




Sortiticr over the old nunc dumps 



Around Pike's Peak 137 

ing high-grade ore. They'd go down abandoned work- 
ings and hike around through into a mine where the ore 
was valuable. The mines were worked in two shifts, 
and they'd plan to do their stealing when the only per- 
son on duty was the watchman. He couldn't keep 
track of the whole mine, and the high-graders were able 
to load up with ore and get away. The regular mine 
workers were high-graders, too. They'd hide the ore 
in their clothing, and even though the mine owners knew 
of the stealing they didn't dare say a word for fear the 
miners would strike. 

" By and by a worthless, no-account walloper was 
fired from an ore mill at Colorado Springs. The union 
here took up the matter, and when the mill owners 
wouldn't reinstate the man, the miners all quit work. 
Non-union men were brought in, and a lot of 'em were 
dynamited at the Independence railway station. Then 
the soldiers came and there were guns flashing around 
everywhere, and the women didn't dare put their noses 
out of their doors. Some men were deported and others 
went away of their own accord, and the union, after 
monkeying around a long time, gave up the fight. At 
present there are more workers than work, so the em- 
ployers have things their own way, and this is a regular 
slave camp." 

The old boom days when everyone had money, and 
speculation and ferment were omnipresent will prob- 
ably never return. This is not due entirely to the strike. 



138 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

but would have come in the natural course of events. 
The mines produce more than ever before, but they 
have installed the latest labor-saving devices, and often 
several have combined to work their holdings in com- 
mon. As a result one man perhaps accomplishes as 
much as five did a few years ago, the inhabitants have 
decreased, and the towns have a rusty, battered look 
that is far from cheerful. The town that has suffered 
most seems to be Altman, which is on one of the bleak- 
est hilltops. But to compensate for its broken-windowed 
dilapidation it enjoys a noble outlook on the mountains. 
In one direction is the Great Divide, a long range of 
blue-based, snowy pinnacles, and in the other, near at 
hand, is Pike's Peak lifting its white crown far into the 
blue. This lonely sentinel, indeed, dominates the re- 
gion for a hundred miles around. 

Note. — Pike's Peak is the best known height in the Rockies. Its 
name is famihar everywhere; and this fact alone is a sufficient reason 
for desiring to see it with one's own eyes. Partly because of this at- 
traction, and partly because of other favors bestowed by nature, the 
section of country immediately to the east of the mountain is one of 
the most notable pleasure resorts of the continent. Colorado Springs, 
the chief town of the region, is in its way very nearly ideal, with fine 
buildings, broad tree-lined streets and pleasant parks, and a beautiful 
view of the great snow-capped Peak and its companion heights. Close 
by is the Garden of the Gods, and the picturesque Cheyenne Canyon. 
At the base of the Peak is the village of Manitou in a graceful vale 
encompassed by cathedral hills and with the added attraction of 
sparkling, health-giving mineral springs. Many delightful rambles 
and carriage drives are possible, and the Peak invites you to climb, if 
you wish to do something very strenuous. 



Around Pike's Peak 139 

East of the foothills are the plains; but these are too forbiddingly 
arid to possess much interest. If you would see agricultural Colorado 
at its best, journey north to Greeley or some other place in the valley of 
the South Platte. There irrigation and industry have made a wonder- 
fully thriving farming region. 

For an attraction of another sort, go from Colorado Springs to 
Cripple Creek by the railroad that winds up over the wild chaos of 
mountains. On the grim uplands you find men searching for gold 
and tearing up the earth and burying the land beneath vast dumps of 
broken stone. But as a typical Rocky Mountain iiuning camp, easily 
accessible and with world-wide fame it is well worth visiting. 



VIII 

IN THE HEART OF THE ROCKIES 

THE mountains that form the backbone of the con- 
tinent are not a single series of ridges, or a closely 
huddled line of peaks; but there are many half- 
related ranges and groups of rough upheavals that are 
widely separated, or that have among them frequent 
great pastoral valleys. Some of the valleys are fully 
fifty miles long and nearly as wide, and are open graz- 
ing and farm land. Whether large or small, a mountain 
valley of this type is called "a park;" and it was in one 
of the lesser parks that I made my first stop, after pass- 
ing through the wild and impressive canyon of the Royal 
Gorge that gashes the eastern buttresses of the moun- 
tains. The gentle levels of the vale, its trees feathering 
into new leafage along the streams, its cultivated fields 
and blossoming orchards were delightful — the more so, 
no doubt, because they were rimmed about by dark, 
wooded heights, and were guarded at a somewhat re- 
moter distance by the white peaks of the Great Divide. 
At least half a dozen snow-clad summits were in sight, 
each over fourteen thousand feet high. 



In the Heart of the Rockies 141 

The winter was not entirely vanquished yet, and the 
mountains were often obscured by drifting snowsqualls 
that sometimes descended into the valley and sprinkled 
the earth with quick-melting flakes. To these frosty 
flurries the farmers paid no attention, but went on put- 
ting in their crops and hoeing their gardens. Some of 
the local^ dwellers complained that the seasons were too 
short, but as a whole they were contented and even 
enthusiastic. "This is the best place the sun shines on," 
declared one man; "and we have more bright days 
than anywhere else on earth." 

He had left an Eastern city to seek health, and had 
found it in the high, dry air and out-door life he led in 
this Rocky Mountain park. His wife worked with him 
in the fields, and they were happy and prosperous and 
had no desire to become city dwellers again. 

" But we have to irrigate to raise any crops," said he, 
"and that ain't no such easy job as a good many people 
back East imagine. They seem to think all you've got 
to do is to turn a faucet to make it rain all over your 
farm, and that then you can go and lay down. But we 
have to plough and harrow, and we have to fight the 
weeds, and there's lots of digging necessary to make 
water ditches and keep 'em in order." 

Then, changing the subject, he added : " You ought to 
climb that mountain over to the southward. It's the 
highest one around here, except those with the snow on 
'em, and you can see the whole world at one sweep from 
the top of it." 



142 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

However, I preferred to keep to the valley. Its chief 
highway was known as the old Leadville Trail, and in 
the early days before the railroad was built this had been 
a very populous thoroughfare. At one point was an 
ancient "roadhouse" or tavern, now verging on dilapi- 
dation, but impressive by reason of its size and its 
connection with a stirring and romantic past. In the 
gold excitement days it was always crowded, and many 
travellers paid fifty cents each for the privilege of sleep- 
ing in their own blankets on the piazza. 

One man, whose parents came to the vicinity at that 
period and settled on a cattle ranch, told me something 
of his experiences. "I was a boy then," said he, "and 
I used to sell buttermilk to the Leadville freighters. 
They'd have their white prairie schooners with two or 
three spans of horses or mules attached, and generally 
went in bands, several together, and camped nights by 
the roadside. 

"We often saw wild horses up in the hills, and the 
fellows would build a corral with wing fences in order 
to capture 'em. As soon as there was a good chance, the 
boys would circle around the broncos and work 'em 
down to the fences and into the corral. When they were 
out running loose they looked like nice horses; but in 
actual use they weren't very desirable in most ways. 
Yet they were so nimble and tough they couldn't be 
beat for the cattle business. The worst thing about 'em 
was that you'd got to break 'em over again every time 



In the Heart of the Rockies 143 

you rode 'em. My father bought one for me when I 
was about fifteen years old. I knew more then than I 
ever shall again, and I picked her out myself. 'There's 
a dandy,' I says. 

"The man we bought her of claimed she was good 
and gentle and all that. So I expected she'd be quiet 
as a lamb; but, whatever her temper, I wore big cowboy 
spurs and was equal to anything. As it happened, she 
proved to be a Virginia rail fence bucker. She didn't 
buck straight ahead, but would give side jumps, first 
this way, then that, and stiff-legged too. I hadn't been 
on her back half a minute before I was thrown off. As 
soon as I could pick myself up I mounted once more, 
and the bronco got ready to go after me. Up she went 
into the air, and when I was comin' down I met her 
goin' up on the next trip. But I hung on till the horse 
tossed her head back and hit me in the nose. That took 
all the ginger out of me, and I was ready to quit. I 
owned her for a number of years, but I never could tell 
when I got on her which way the hurricane was goin' to 
strike me. Once she carried me straight across an 
eighty acre field as tight as she could go and tried to 
jump a wire fence. Her heels caught in the wires, and 
she would have been badly hurt only she got so beauti- 
fully tangled up she couldn't struggle. 

"The worst proposition I ever had was a mule, and 
there's nothing tougher or meaner on earth unless it's 
two mules. The first time I got a-hold of her we were 



144 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

hauling dry peas out of a field, and you know how 
those'll rattle. I hitched her to the tail end of the wagon 
rack, and she had to come right along whether she liked 
the rattling or not. But after a while she made a plunge 
sideways that cut the rope against the edge of the rack, 
and she made off for the range. I wore out one horse 
and almost wore out another before I caught her. From 
time to time afterward I tried breaking her, but I 
couldn't get her under control. You might just as well 
ride on a steam engine. She'd run about two hundred 
yards and stop, and if you weren't on the alert you'd go 
over her head. Finally I traded her off, and she changed 
hands pretty rapidly for the future. At last she got 
away with a saddle on her and led the owner such a 
chase that he shot her in order to get the saddle. 

"We had a range of about a thousand acres, and 
kept something like a hundred cattle — let 'em run. It 
was rather discouraging there were so many losses. 
During the winter the cattle became lean and weak, and 
in the spring they'd get into mudholes and not have the 
strength to wade out. Some were stolen, and others 
were destroyed by the railway trains. You see the 
track melted free of snow sooner than most of the land 
around. So at night the cattle would lie down on it to 
keep warm and dry; and if they chose a spot that the 
train come on suddenly from around a curve they'd be 
run over. 




a: *"■ 



The fanner and his l.n'l pniate 



In the Heart of the Rockies 145 

"We raised alfalfa and cut considerable wire grass on 
the low ground, and we could have fed the cattle some 
in the bad weather of the cold months. But that wasn't 
economy. It made the cattle expect to be fed right 
along, and they'd hang around and bawl instead of 
getting out on the range to rustle for themselves. The 
horses were able to stand exposure better than the cattle. 
They could wade through the snow easier, and go much 
farther for food, and they'd come down from the moun- 
tains in the spring in pretty good shape and as shaggy 
as sheep. 

"Our hardest work was in June and September 
when we had our roundups. The whole country was 
laid off in roundup districts, and the ranchers would 
combine to do the work. We'd have a grub wagon 
along; and one rancher would furnish the team, and 
another the wagon, and we'd all chip in to supply the food. 
Each day we'd go over ten or fifteen miles of country 
and drive the cattle to some central point agreed on; 
and I tell you it ain't what it's cracked up to be — this 
keeping in the saddle hour after hour from early morn- 
ing till the middle of the afternoon. The June roundup 
was for calves, and each day when the drive was fin- 
ished we'd grab a little to eat and go to branding. We'd 
have a lot of branding irons in the fire, and there'd per- 
haps be a dozen fellows, and we didn't stop till all the 
calves in the drive were branded even if it took us till 
after dark. Each calf was branded the same as the 



146 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

cow it was running with. The September roundup was 
to pick out the creatures we wanted to sell for beef. It's 
astonishing how widely scattered even a little herd gets; 
for a long storm will drift 'em horribly. I'd have to be 
out at least a week to cover the ground where our cattle 
were likely to wander. 

"Around our home were a few acres that we irrigated. 
We had a very good water right; for we'd filed on it 
early. You were allowed to file on as much water as 
you could reasonably use on your land. But it was 
first come, first served, and in a dry time the later ar- 
rivals suffered. The water right is the most important 
item in the value of a farm here, and has often been a 
cause of bloodshed. For instance, my wife's father, 
who was a quiet, law-abiding man in every way, had 
some dispute with a neighbor over their water claims 
and was shot at from a fence near which he was digging 
a ditch. The bullet went through his blouse. With 
only a shovel in his hands he ran and drove off the fel- 
low who'd done the shooting. 

"A night or two later his house was set on fire, and 
when he came hurrying out to see what he could do to 
save his property he was shot dead. His wife dragged 
him beyond reach of the flames, extinguished the fire, 
and rode off to get help. A vigilance committee started 
for the home of the murderer, but they got a little too 
hilarious on the way, and were so slow, someone had time 
to give the fellow the wink, and he escaped. We had 



In the Heart of the Rockies 147 

some rough doings in those days, and every old-timer 
used to keep a revolver hanging on his bedpost." 

Nov^, however, Hfe in the valley is scarcely less peace- 
ful than nature itself, and I left this pleasant region 
doubting whether I would find another among the 
mountains equally attractive. Certainly Leadville, 
my next stopping-place, was not such a spot. When I 
arrived in the late evening the snow was steadily sifting 
down from a sky where, behind a thin haze of cloud, 
the full moon shone dimly. 

"We have snow every month in the year," commented 
a native. "This is a funny country. Once it snowed 
like sixty on the Fourth of July." 

Leadville lies at an elevation of over ten thousand 
feet, and is sometimes spoken of as "the town above 
the clouds." Winter seemed to have the whole region 
in its chill grip on my first morning there, and a frosty 
wind blew from the big bleak hills and frozen moun- 
tains roundabout. But the snow which covered the 
ground melted rapidly, and by noon the town emerged 
from its white robes in all its usual dinginess. The 
larger part of the place is a treeless huddle of frail cot- 
tages and shanties, many of which are dilapidated and 
vacant. However, it is only fair to say that much of the 
business section has an air of well-built permanence, 
and there are certain residence streets, where the homes, 
in size, architecture, and surroundings, are suggestive of 
comfort and refinement. 



148 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

A pecuHarity of the mines of the district is the great 
variety of metals they produce. These include silver, 
gold, zinc, lead, iron, and copper. But it was gold that 
first attracted miners to the region. For several years 
they delved in the gulches, and washed the silt in their 
pans and cradles and troughs without getting any 
phenomenal returns. The excitement began in the 
spring of 1878 when ore remarkably rich in lead and 
silver was discovered. "Then," as an old miner ex- 
plained to me, "people began pilin' in here from all 
parts of the world. They came in wagons and on horse- 
back and in the stages, and by 1881 we had a city of 
thirty-seven thousand inhabitants. This used to be a 
pretty lively country, but it's dead now. 

"My pardner and I were among the early comers, 
and we located in California Gulch and put up a tent 
to live in. But the tent was just temporary, and in the 
course of a few weeks we built a log cabin. Later I fixed 
up a shanty of slabs right in the sagebrush where the heart 
of the city now is, and I fenced it in, too. Pretty soon 
afterward I went off to work in another camp for a few 
months, and when I came back, cabin, fence and all 
were gone. I knew where they were, but it meant gun 
play to get possession. So I said, 'Never mind.' 

"The place was crowded. Why, Lord! you could 
hardly get through the streets there were so many people 
and teams, and the noise never stopped, day or night. 
Little sawmills were stuck up here and there, but they 




ej 



In the Heart of the Rockies 149 

couldn't get out lumber fast enough, and men would 
take slabs or anything else to build their shanties. Often 
they made the sides of boards and the roof of canvas 
and got along that way. Every man brought blankets, 
and quite a few just wrapped up and slept under trees, 
or in the saloons. The saloons were open all night, and 
there'd be fellows lying around on the sawdust-strewn 
floor so thick you could hardly step between them. In 
the morning they'd roll up their blankets and go about 
their business. There was no charge. It was a sort of 
advertisement that brought the saloon custom. A 
gambling den was always run in connection with the 
saloon, and there were plenty of dives ready to rob any- 
one they could get hold of. It was a rough place, and 
the mortality was blamed bad, too. But in three or 
four years they cleaned up some, and if the police found 
a man with a gun they run him in. After that there 
was more reason for being scairt back in the Eastern 
cities than there was here. 

"The men living in tents usually cooked their meals 
outside over an open fire, but you'd find a sheet-iron 
stove in most of the cabins. A frying-pan and pot were 
about the extent of our cooking utensils. The meat we 
ate was nearly all bacon and ham, and navy beans were 
a great standby. We didn't use much butter or milk, 
and it was darn seldom we got any potatoes. 

"Wherever a new mining camp was started, the 
lawyers and doctors came in with the swim. There'd 



150 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

be about a couple each of lawyers and snide doctors, 
even if there wa'n't more'n fifty men in the camp. The 
ministers wouldn't arrive till later; but it was a good 
business proposition for them, too. Money was as free 
as water, and when a church was to be built, or a bell 
bought, the minister would make the rounds of the 
gambling hells and other places to get contributions, 
and the fellows would all dish out. Even if they never 
went to church they'd give just the same. The Irish 
were church-goers, but the balance of the gang — no. 
Perhaps everyone would turn out to a revival and throw 
in a little boodle — from one to five dollars apiece. 
That's as near, though, as they came to bein' religious; 
and yet I've never seen a crowd like there is in this 
town when it comes to givin' every religion a show, 
even if they don't care about any of 'em. One night a 
drunken fellow went to interfere with a Salvation Army 
service. As often as they'd start to sing or preach he'd 
butt in. But the crowd soon put a stop to his nonsense. 
They kicked him all over the street, and then he was 
thrown into jail. 

"While the mining excitement was at its height it 
was queer how eager people were to invest. They had 
an idea, if they could get a claim most anywhere within 
a few miles of where the big finds were made, their future 
fortune was sure. 'Can't you put me onto something ?' 
a stranger would say to you; and if you were at all 
acquainted with the region you'd go and show him a 



In the Heart of the Rockies 151 

spot that hadn't been taken up. In an hour's time 
you'd very Hkely get for the assistance rendered two 
or three hundred dollars. Lots of these investors would 
sink a shaft fifty feet or so, and then go away and never 
be heard of afterward. 

" I used to have a third interest in one of the best 
claims here. If I hadn't sold out I'd have been a mil- 
lionaire. My pardners were Charlie Jones and a man 
named Robinson. By and by Robinson wanted to buy 
us out, and about that time Charlie went on a tear, and 
one morning when he'd been drinking all night we 
found him dead behind the stove. Then Robinson 
went right off East to Charlie's relatives and bought out 
his interest for seventeen hundred dollars. He wanted 
to bulldoze me into selling at his price, too. 

"We had a gang of lawyers here who were always 
ready to take up your quarrels. 'I'll win for you,' 
they'd say, and encourage you to spend your money, 
even if you had no chance at all. I engaged one of 
'em, but before the case came up for trial and showed 
whether he was any good, Robinson settled with me for 
thirty thousand dollars. 

"A while later he had some trouble with the super- 
intendent at the mine and turned him off and stationed 
guards with orders to let no one they didn't know ap- 
proach the property. But one evening he walked up to 
the mine himself, and the guard didn't recognize him in 
the darkness. Robinson paid no attention when he was 



152 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

ordered to stop, and the guard banged away and wounded 
him so badly that he only lived a day or two afterward. 
But Robinson never blamed the guard, who he said had 
simply done his duty, and he willed him a thousand 
dollars. However, the guard worried considerable over 
what had happened, and though he was naturally sober 
and industrious he took to drink and was good for 
nothing afterward. 

"Well, I had all that money I spoke of, and I went to 
Denver and bought a home. I was goin' to quit min- 
ing, but the first thing I knew I was in deeper than ever, 
and the money slipped away. That's how it is in min- 
ing — easy made and easy gone. Some of my old friends 
made millions, and yet died poor. You see they'd get 
to speculating, and everybody was after 'em when they 
had money. 'We've got a deal on,' the fellows would 
say, 'and will give you a chance;' and most every deal 
made a hole in the fortune. There was Finnerty had 
three hundred thousand dollars and lost it horse-racing; 
and there was John Morrisey, Diamond Joe's pardner. 
He got to be very rich though he couldn't read or write. 
Why, he carried an expensive watch, but was too ig- 
norant to tell the time of day by it. You ask him the 
time, and he'd take out his watch sayin', T do' know — 
about so and so,' making as good a guess as he could. 
Then turning it toward you he'd say, 'and to show you 
I ain't lyin', look yourself 




A placer mi tier tn a Leadville gulch 



In the Heart of the Rockies 153 

"Once the priest asked him to help buy a chandeHer 
for the church. 'A chandeHer' — says John, 'sure, that 
there church ought to have one. Put me down for a 
hundred dollars. But who are you goin' to get to 
play it .? ' 

"He was prosperous until some dirty trick of his 
made Diamond Joe drop him. After that he went to 
the dogs. His friends deserted him, his wife got a 
divorce, and he died a pauper; but we saw that he had 
a nice burial. 

"That shows the way things have gone at the mines 
here; and the town has had its ups and downs, too. 
You may think it's destined to be wiped off the map 
presently, but I tell you it'll be a camp after we're all 
dead and gone." 

Probably nothing like the spectacular boom of the 
early days will be known at Leadville again; but it 
will be a long, long time before the region ceases to be a 
wealth-producer. 

Still another place that I visited among the tangled 
heights near the crest of the continent was a hamlet 
some fifty miles farther west, deep in a wild hollow. 
Two or three streams met just there, and they were 
crowded so closely by the steep ridges that rose around 
as to afford the village only the slenderest foothold. If 
you followed the streams back into the hills you were 
sometimes in forest, sometimes amid beetling cliffs, 
while the water hastened down the ravine with many a 



154 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

foaming leap and tumultuous rapid. Here and there 
you came across a mine or a little sawmill, and at rare 
intervals occurred marshy meadows and possibly a rude 
ranch with a few scanty fields. In favorable places you 
saw great white peaks peering over the near slopes. 
The most notable of these is the Mountain of the Holy 
Cross; but the emblem which gives the peak its name 
does not appear till nearly midsummer. Then the snow 
has melted from the high cliffs and is only retained in 
two deep ravines that form a cross. This continues in 
view until the late fall when the snows again take posses- 
sion of the entire crest. 

The situation of the village was quite delightful, but 
its huddled double line of cheap angular wooden build- 
ings had not the least touch of grace. Luckily the mines 
were beyond view. Most of them were down the main 
canyon clinging along the face of a vast precipice. 

One day, after a long tramp among the hills, I sat 
down in the village drug store. A young woman was in 
charge, and she was as ready to impart information as 
to serve customers. Trade was not very brisk. A man 
came in to buy a bottle of patent medicine, a housewife 
invested in a box of rat poison, and a young fellow se- 
lected a dime's worth of candy to which he treated the 
girl who sold it. Afterward the candy-buyer lit a cigaret 
and backed up to the stove with his hands behind him 
as if to warm himself. Thereupon the girl chaffed him, 
for there was no fire in the stove. 







I?- 5 






/^ rhat on the htgl.nuay 



In the Heart of the Rockies 155 

"But I don't blame you, CharHe," she continued. 
"A person gets used to thinkin' it's cold here in this 
place. Heavens! what winters we have! It's nothing 
at all to get up and find the thermometer twenty and 
thirty below zero. The snow lasts from November to 
April. But the grass and things grow fast when they 
once start. There's flowers blossoming before you 
know it. Oh my goodness! the clusters of anemones 
come right out of the snow, almost. In another month 
the hills where the sheep and cattle graze will be just 
covered with columbine." 

"Where were you last evening.?" asked Charlie. 

"The moon shone," said she, "and it was such a 
pretty night that I went for a walk. But we certainly 
are hemmed in here. You can't go far without getting 
into the wilderness. There's only the one street, and at 
each end it runs smack up against a mountain. I don't 
know where we would put another building, and I'm 
not sure we can keep all that we have now. Lately the 
mountain seems to be comin' down and crowding our 
church out into the street. That's a funny thing to 
happen, and I've had more laughs about it than a few. 

" I believe there's about two hundred people in the 
place when they're all at home, but half of 'em are gen- 
erally gone; and yet we can support three saloons. 
Yes, and we have two weekly newspapers, but one of 
'em is so weakly we're never sure there'll be another 
issue. Then, too, there's our hack. The railroad sta- 
tion had to be put farther down the crick because of 



156 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

lack of room in the village, and as soon as you get off 
the train they ask if you want a hack. But when you 
look around— gee! you find only an express wagon. 
We have an opera house, and sometimes a show com- 
pany drops off here. That's happened only once though 
in the last six months. Of course pretty near everyone 
went — you bet they did! I wished I hadn't afterward. 
It was something awful — the rottenest show I ever saw 
in my life. Saturday night, a week ago, we had an ice- 
cream social at the church — fifteen cents a dish, and a 
dance at the opera house afterward. The entertainment 
kept going till half-past one, and I thought they must 
be pretty good church members to eat and dance over 
into Sunday. 

"We dance quite a little in the winter — anything for 
a pastime ! Often there's as many as twenty-five couples. 
We use the old schoolhouse. It isn't good for much else 
since they've put up the new one. An organ and violin 
furnish music, and we have three big lamps for light. 
Once in a while a four-horse load of young people drive 
up Turkey Crick to a dance at Glifftop. It's claimed 
they've got a better floor there than here; but that's 
never induced me to go. Gee whiz! the road don't look 
any too good in the daytime, and of course it's icy and 
slippery, and we might slide off down into the canyon." 

These elucidations made it evident that though a 
stranger might fancy the village to be rather oppres- 
sively secluded, its life was not without piquancy and 



In the Heart of the Rockies 157 

a somewhat varied enjoyment. As for its surroundings, 
their wild charm could hardly be excelled. 

Note. — The most picturesque passage through the mountains on 
any of our several great transcontinental railroad routes is that of the 
Denver and Rio Grande. It is by way of the magnificent Royal Gorge 
whose towering cliffs form one of the most impressive of canyons. 
This is the gateway to western Colorado — a broken region of tremen- 
dous mountain ranges intermitting with many a sheltered pastoral 
valley. Any of these valleys will amply repay a visit, but I would 
mention Salida and Buena Vista as places that especially appealed 
to me. 

By turning a little aside from the main route one can visit Leadville 
in its lofty eyrie. The chief attraction of the town is its reputation as 
a mining camp, though the surrounding region is not without con- 
siderable scenic beauty. 

In the late summer and early autumn a pause at Red Cliff, about 
fifty miles west of Leadville, is to be recommended. The little village 
itself with its Swiss-like environment is quite delightful, and the Moun- 
tain of the Holy Cross is at that season in all its glory. The mountain 
can be glimpsed from the railroad, but a really intimate acquaintance 
with it necessitates a somewhat arduous trip of a dozen miles back 
into the woods from Red Cliff. 

Still farther west is the well-known health resort of Glenwood 
Springs in a beautiful valley surrounded by forest-clad hills. Another 
place worthy of special notice is Grand Junction, in the vicinity of 
which is some of the most productive fruit country to be found in the 
entire Rocky Mountain region. 



IX 

LIFE IN A MORMON VILLAGE 

IT was an old-fashioned little place — one of the early 
settlements near the shores of the Great Salt Lake. 
Close behind rose a steep, lofty mountain ridge. 
Tall Lombardy poplars lined the streets and stood in 
stately rows along the borders of the fields, while the 
houses nestled amid apple, cherry, peach, and other 
fruit trees. The dwellings were apt to be small, but 
their vernal setting of trees and vines made them quite 
idyllic. Irrigation ditches networked the whole region, 
and the life-giving water flowed in swilt streams on one 
side or the other of every street. In the open country 
roundabout were broad acres of wheat and alfalfa, and 
luscious pastures. 

During my stay in the village I lodged in one of the 
Mormon homes. It was on a grassy lane a little off the 
chief street, and was snugly fenced from the encroach- 
ment of the cows that grazed in the lane for a time 
both morning and evening. The main part of the house 
was of adobe, but there was a newer portion of wood. 
None of it was over one story high, and the crudity of 
its appointments can be judged by the fact, that to wash 







At the hack door of an adobe house 



Life in a Mormon Village 159 

my hands and face I had to resort to the Httle shed 
kitchen, where there was a tin basin on a stand, and a 
pail of water on a chair. The dirty water was thrown 
out of the back door. 

From beneath the trees that shadowed the house I 
could see the Salt Lake far off across the lowlands, and 
beyond the silvery water were lines of high blue ridges 
crowned with snow. One morning I started out to get 
a nearer view of the lake, and a three-mile walk across 
the marshy lowlands took me to a wide stretch of oozy 
beach that stopped my farther progress. I was a little 
disappointed because I wanted to taste the water. It 
could hardly be very palatable, for it is about twenty- 
five per cent salt — a per cent only exceeded by the 
Dead Sea in Palestine. Yet the lake is not always 
equally salty; for it has periods of rising and falling that 
extend somewhat regularly over a series of years. Be- 
tween the lowest and the highest level there is a differ- 
ence of sixteen feet, and the saltiness of the water varies 
accordingly. This has been down to eleven per cent, 
the record for dilution, while the other extreme is over 
three times that amount. Salt from the lake, obtained 
by evaporation, is shipped away in vast quantities. 

Some ten thousand or more years ago the lake was a 
magnificent body of fresh water the size of Lake Huron, 
and its outlet was by way of the Columbia River into the 
Pacific Ocean. Since that time the climate has become 



i6o Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

arid, and the lake has gradually dried up from over a 
thousand feet deep to about twenty feet, and it has less 
than a tenth of its original area. 

The salt makes the water very heavy, and the waves 
roll with a lazy motion, but with tremendous force. A 
person can lie flat on his back in the water, and a third 
of his body will be above the surface. There are no 
fish in the lake, and life is confined to a little shrimp 
about a fourth of an inch long and a small worm. 
Hundreds of the shrimps are found in every bucket 
of water, and in the season the water is milky with 
the eggs of these creatures. Except at that time the 
water is as clear as crystal. 

The vicinity by the lakeshore that I visited did not 
entice me to linger. It was almost bare of trees; and 
there were gulls flying about, and numerous snipe, and 
a few heron and sandpipers, whose lonely cries hastened 
my inclination to return to the town. 

The place seemed very effectively sheltered from rude 
gales by its trees and the lofty ridge behind; and yet 
my landlady said: "The east wind is often a regular 
hurricane here in the autumn. It takes roofs ofi^ and 
blows barns to pieces and breaks down the apple trees; 
and it will just keep up that way for three or four days. 
We have storms other times, too. Only last week it 
snowed here like the dickins; and it's very seldom that 
we don't get a snowstorm in May. Some of the storms 




'O 



o 



Life in a Mormon Village i6l 



to^ 



seem fearful at the time, but they don't do such damage 
as to prevent the people being mostly pretty prosperous." 

The family with which I was stopping ordinarily 
consisted of Mrs. Dutton, my landlady, and two daugh- 
ters. There had, however, been a full dozen of chil- 
dren, and though the others had married and established 
homes of their own, some of them were frequently drop- 
ping in to call, and occasionally might stay for a meal or 
spend the night. They were a lively clan and had a 
breezy Western way of talking that was characterized 
by a good deal of slangy vigor. Mrs. Dutton herself 
was a kind-hearted, motherly old body to whom the 
tumultuous ebullitions of her progeny were at times 
disturbing, but she was not without energy and a keen 
tongue. "You're gettin' crazier every day!" she would 
declare, addressing her daughters; "I'd have you to 
know, though, that I'm boss of this shebang, and I 
won't be run over." 

One day a tramp came begging at the kitchen door, 
and she fed him. " Perhaps I ought not to have done 
it," she philosophized afterward, "but I can't turn a 
tramp off to save my soul. Brigham Young used to say : 
'There's three kinds of poor — the Lord's poor, the 
devil's poor, and the poor devils.' That is, the worthy 
poor, the vicious poor, and those who are shiftless and 
incapable. He said each class ought to be treated dif- 
ferently; and that some of the poor shouldn't be helped 



1 62 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

at all. But if a man says he's hungry I can't do any- 
thing only feed him, no matter what he is." 

While we were talking two of her grandchildren 
wandered in, and I asked her how many she had in all. 
She hesitated. "To tell you the truth, I've forgot," 
said she, and began to reckon up — eleven in one family, 
nine in another, five in another and so on. 

The two children, a boy and a girl, were quite small, 
and presently the landlady's daughter Dora took them 
in hand to tidy up their hair. She got along all right 
with the boy; but there seemed to be molasses or some- 
thing of the sort in the little girl's flossy tresses, and no 
sooner was the combing started than the child doubled 
over and began to cry. "Shut up, miss!" said the 
young lady. "Quit your bawling!" 

"Don't cry, lovey," begged grandma. "Why Dora, 
she's just a-sobbing — for goodness sake!" 

"She's trying to cry, and that's all there is of it," 
affirmed Dora. "Stop it, you little stink! If your 
mother was here she'd slap you!" 

At last the process was completed and the children 
were free to play. About that time their mother arrived. 
" Everybody's always thought this was a slow old town," 
she remarked; "but it's coming out of its kinks now. 
They're going to get power from a stream on the moun- 
tain and light the place with electricity." 

"Well, my gosh!" exclaimed Dora, "that will make 
this place quite modern." 



Life in a Mormon Village 163 

" I see you are wearing one of those new-fashioned 
wide-brimmed hats," said Mrs. Dutton. 

"Yes," assented the newcomer, whom the others 
addressed as Angeline, "everybody has to have 'em 
now; but I tried this on mother, and her small face 
under such a wide brim looked just like a peanut." 

"Winnie Snell is going to be married next week," 
observed Dora. 

"I've expected that would be the outcome all along," 
said Angeline. "It's too bad. He's about the poorest 
piece of humanity she could pick up. He may be good 
and all that, but he's sickly. Her folks have kept up 
the darndest row ever since he began going with her, 
and they've tried their best to keep 'em apart. So of 
course they was bound to have each other, and you 
couldn't have pried 'em apart with an iron bar. If ever 
my daughter has a beau that I don't like I'll have him 
in the house to breakfast, dinner, and supper and let her 
get so much of his company she'll be tired of him; but 
the guy I do want her to have I'll just about kick out of 
the back door to make the match certain." 

"Winnie is a good Mormon," commented Mrs. Dut- 
ton; "but I don't think the fellow is." 

"That's all right," said Angeline. "I'm not a good 
Mormon either, though there's lots of elders and bishops 
and other church officers in our family. What they tell 
about the way the Mormon religion started sounds like 
a fairy tale to me." 



164 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

"It's all true — every word of it," asserted Mrs. Dut- 
ton. "The things that happened to Joseph Smith are 
just as easy to believe as what you read in the Bible. 
You'll find the Bible says: 'In the last days the gospel 
shall be revealed.' That's what was done through our 
prophet Joseph Smith. He began to be troubled about 
religion when he was only a boy, and one time in his 
bedroom there come over him such a darkness as nearly 
strangled him. That was the devil. Afterward he was 
surrounded by a great glory of light. That was God; 
and the boy asked which of the different religions was 
right. God said that none of 'em were right, but he 
would reveal to him the true religion written on some 
plates of gold buried in a certain hill. Joseph went to 
the hill and got the plates. When he began to preach 
the new religion he was persecuted, and once when the 
mob was after him he hid the golden plates in a barrel 
of beans to save 'em from destruction. I don't see any- 
thing about all that but what a person can believe easy 
enough; and there's no other religion I'd accept in the 
place of Mormonism." 

Angeline was still unconvinced; but she said she 
was going to sit down sometime and read the Book of 
Mormon through to see what she could make of it. At 
present she was unregenerate enough to have the opinion 
that there were " more hypocrites in the Mormon church 
than out of it," that most intelligent Mormons were 
really as skeptical as she was, and that business or 




Mormon Mat J ens 



Life in a Mormon Village 165 

social motives were all that kept them nominally faith- 
ful. She mentioned polygamy, which used to be a part 
of the Mormon teaching. 

"Well," said Mrs. Dutton, "I didn't Hke that myself. 
None of the women did. If a husband took more than 
one wife it always made bad feeling in a family. He 
was expected to treat every wife alike; but I'm afraid 
that was expecting too much; and even if he succeeded, 
a woman didn't want to share her man with another 
woman." 

"Brigham Young had eighteen wives," said Angeline, 
"and I guess he'd have liked to have a few more. There 
was an aunt of mine he saw and wanted to marry; but 
though her parents were good Mormons, that didn't 
suit 'em. They kept her hid in a cellar for two weeks 
and then sent her off to relatives in the East. Brigham 
Young persuaded father that he ought to take another 
wife himself; but when he told mother, didn't she make 
him sashay around! She got him to move to another 
town." 

"My husband never seemed to have any inclination 
that way," remarked Mrs. Dutton; "and I never 
coaxed him to take another wife — that's a sure thing! 
If he had brought one home maybe I'd have acted like 
the very old deuce as so many other women did. I'm 
glad polygamy is a thing of the past." 

The church is the most vital element in the village 
life, and I imagined I should find the "meeting-house " 



1 66 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

as they call it, a rather conspicuous building; but it 
was very plain, without spire, or dome, or bell, and 
though close to a chief thoroughfare, had such narrow 
grounds and was so hidden by a martial company of 
poplars as to be scarcely noticeable. There were three 
services every Sunday — the Sunday-school in the morn- 
ing, preaching for adults in the afternoon, and a young 
people's meeting in the evening. As all the services are 
lengthy this may seem rather strenuous, yet the day is 
far from being Puritanical. There is much loitering 
and visiting, the boys play ball and pitch quoits, and 
the young men take the girls to ride and sit up with 
them far into the night. 

The Sunday that I was in the village was pleasant, 
but cool, and at the morning service the interior of the 
thick-walled stone church was decidedly chilly. At one 
end of the main room where we gathered for the general 
exercises was a platform of generous size on which was a 
pulpit, a desk, and a score or so of chairs. In an adjoin- 
ing corner was a small pipe organ and seats for the 
choir. Rows of settees occupied most of the floor space, 
and in the midst of them was a tall stove. 

The preliminary exercises consisted chiefly of sing- 
ing, into which the audience entered with great hearti- 
ness. The songs inculcated the love of good, of nature, 
home and country, but I observed an occasional hymn 
in the book used that had an individuality peculiar to 
the Church of the Latter Day Saints. One such ran thus ; 



Life in a Mormon Village 167 

" I'll be a little ' Mormon,' and seek to know the ways 

That God has taught his people in these the latter days. 

I know that he has blessed me with mercies rich and kind, 

And I will strive to serve him with all my might and 

mind. 

" By sacred revelation which he to us has given, 
He tells us how to follow the ancient saints to heav'n. 
Though I am young and little, I, too, may have forthwith 
To love the precious gospel revealed to Joseph Smith. 

" With Jesus for the standard a sure and perfect guide, 
And Joseph's wise example what can I need bfeside ? 
I'll strive from ev'ry evil to keep my heart and tongue, 
I'll be a little Mormon and follow Brigham Young." 

Here also is a verse from a song which show^s the trend 
of Mormon teaching in the matter of temperance. 

" That the children may live long 
And be beautiful and strong. 
Tea and coffee and tobacco they despise, 
Drink no liquor, and they eat 
But a very little meat. 
They are seeking to be great and good and wise." 

These principles are not merely a matter of juvenile 
sing-song, but are preached from the pulpit and incor- 
porated in the church manuals. 

I w^as surprised to find that the sacrament was cele- 
brated in Sunday-school; but it seems this is a part of 
each of the three services every Sunday. Water is used 
instead of wine and each distributor carries along a tall 
silver tankard from which to replenish the goblet that 
passes from hand to hand. All partake, even the little 
children. 



1 68 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

At length we adjourned in several divisions to rooms 
at the rear of the building to consider the Sunday-school 
lesson. The class of adults which I joined included a 
number of women who had brought along their babies 
and smaller children, and the apartment was pretty 
well crowded. Our topic was "The Beauties of Mother- 
hood," which was treated in a characteristic Mormon 
way by emphasizing the desirability of large families. 
But the remarks of those who spoke covered quite a 
wide range and were often original and spirited. 

"Some women say they don't want children," com- 
mented a bent old lady whom the villagers all knew as 
Aunt Mary. "They're like some men who pretend 
they don't want a wife because she'll be a lot of trouble, 
but want one just the same." 

The question was raised whether it was better to give 
children toy animals like rabbits and bears for play- 
things, or dolls. "What do you think. Sister Watson ?" 
asked the young man who was our leader. 

"I never approved of them animals," Sister Watson 
responded. " It ain't natural to treat 'em like babies the 
way the children do. I believe in dolls." 

Others thought that play with toy animals might 
cultivate sympathy with the dumb creatures. How- 
ever, it was agreed that dolls were necessary for the girls in 
order to cultivate the instinct of maternity. It was also 
argued that the older children should spend considerable 
time taking care of the babies in the family. But one 



Life in a Mormon Village 169 

woman, who rose to speak with a baby in her arms and 
two other tots chnging to her skirts, said: "I don't be- 
lieve I was seven years old when I had to begin to mind 
a baby, and I was kept to that job for years. It didn't 
seem as if I had any childhood, and I can tell you the 
experience didn't make me fond of babies either. The 
farther away they were the better I liked it. So I don't 
think the children ought to be tied too close that way 
if you would have 'em grow up wanting to have babies 
of their own." 

In the afternoon I was present at the preaching ser- 
vice. There was nothing to attract special attention in 
the way of ceremonials or ecclesiastical robing. Every- 
thing was simple and business-like, and I was interested 
to notice that the boy who pumped wind into the organ 
did his work in plain sight and chewed gum in unison 
with the motion of the pump handle. Seated on the 
platform were about a dozen church officials and elders, 
including the chief dignitary of the local organization, 
known as a bishop. They were no different in dress or 
manner from the other men present. Down below, the 
audience was divided into two sections, with the mas- 
culine portion on the left, and the feminine on the right. 
Nearly all of the latter removed their hats, which seemed 
a comfortable and sensible thing to do. The few ex- 
ceptions were quite youthful, and their headgear was 
apparently for exhibition purposes. 



1 70 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

The Mormons do not have a paid ministry. To re- 
ceive money for preaching seems to them obnoxious. 
Individual church members address their fellows from 
the pulpit, and a large proportion, either from natural 
capacity or training, are able and willing to speak thus. 
The chief address which I heard was given by a stalwart 
big-handed young farmer. It was colloquial in manner 
and had touches of humor that made ripples of smiles 
run through the audience, and at the same time it 
showed culture and constructive thought of a high order. 

When I returned to my boarding-place my landlady 
enlightened me further as to the ways of her church, in 
response to a question of mine about the tithings. 
"Yes," she said, "vv^e're supposed to turn over a tenth 
of all our earnings; but I don't know anybody who 
pays 'em right up to the very letter. There's no com- 
pulsion. It's just simply that if you don't give the 
church its due you won't get the highest glory. 

"I'm afraid we don't live up to any of the church 
rules. For instance, one Sunday a month is a fast day, 
when everybody over eight years old is expected to go 
without eating from sunrise to sunset. The previous 
night you should take to the bishop's storehouse a dona- 
tion of flour and supplies equivalent to what you would 
naturally save by fasting. But people are getting so they 
don't pay much attention to the fast days. Once there 
was kind of a plague in the place — diphtheria, I think it 
was — and we had special prayer-meetings and fasting 




The old settler 



Life in a Mormon Village 171 

to get rid of it. For twenty-four hours I didn't touch 
any food, and I was pretty near paralyzed. Since then 
I don't fast any more. 

"Another thing — in the Mormon book of rules called 
'The Word of Wisdom' it says you mustn't drink intoxi- 
cating liquor, or smoke, or use tea and coffee; but I 
don't know how I'd get through the day if it wasn't for 
my blessed coffee. None of those rules are observed at 
all strictly. In the matter of smoking, lots of the boys 
puff their cigarets and pipes; but as they grow older 
some of them get to have sense enough to stop. My 
husband told a neighbor once that his sons smoked, and 
that man got so hot he could have knocked my husband 
senseless. 'You're a blame liar!' he said, and he 
wouldn't believe a word of it. But later he found out 
to his sorrow that it was no more than the truth, you 
betcher! 

"What troubles me is that things don't seem to be 
improvin' any. I know Mormons who drink, and that's 
preached against almost every Sunday. Some think 
the church is too strict, but I guess it allows ways enough 
for people to enjoy themselves. It approves of dancing 
and of having a good time generally. Yes, our young 
people are terrible dancers. There's a dance once a 
week at the public hall in the winter, and they go every 
evening to dance at a pleasure resort near here during 
the summer. 



172 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

" Below that pleasure resort, in the creek, we have 
our baptizings. We baptize by immersion. That's 
the only proper way, and the Bible says so. I'm not 
claiming that everyone will go to hell that ain't immersed 
and that don't believe as we do, but I know the good 
Mormons will have the front seats in heaven. The 
children are all baptized when they are eight years old, 
and then they are members of the church and behave 
themselves, or are supposed to. If an unbaptized per- 
son above that age dies, some member of the family is 
usually baptized afterward in the dead person's plate. 
Children younger than that who die will be all right, we 
think, even if they haven't been baptized. Oh, sure 
they will — they're too young to sin with full knowledge 
and responsibility. 

"The young men as they grow up and show themselves 
to be steady and faithful are made church elders. There's 
one or two elders in every family, and those that are 
good for anything are at some time in their life — and 
perhaps more than once — appointed to go on a mission. 
Mormon missionaries are preaching our religion and 
making converts in every state of the Union, and all 
over the world. Some of the most successful of them 
are young men who don't understand any of the prin- 
ciples of the gospel; but they have a gift for speaking. 
They and their home people pay most of their expenses; 
so we don't send the very poor. Sometimes a concert is 
got up when a man is going off, and forty or fifty dollars 



Life in a Mormon Village 173 

raised for him; and the church pays his return fare. 
Once in a while a missionary will travel in the Bible 
fashion without purse or scrip, but that's not usual. 
It isn't the habit to take up any collections from their 
audiences. All that they ask is to have people listen to 
'em. They're away two or three years; and in most of 
the foreign countries a good deal of that time is spent 
learning the language. The expense is quite a handi- 
cap to some families; but I never knew anyone to 
refuse to go. We had to sell twenty acres of our best 
land to keep my husband on mission. There's always 
several from this village away scattered over the earth. 
Some die while they're gone, and others get diseases of 
which they die soon after they return. 

"The Mormons have always been ready to sacrifice 
a good deal for their religion. See how they suffered 
coming here when they were driven out from Illinois. 
We had a pretty rough time twenty years afterward, 
when I came. There was enough to eat, and the cap- 
tain of the company knowed just how far our ox-teams 
must go each day to reach water; but we never felt 
safe. The Indians were often in sight on their ponies, 
and they carried off one of our women. She was small 
and slim, and she'd got tired and wore out. As she 
walked along she hung behind the train, and her hus- 
band went back and told her if she didn't hurry the 
Indians would get her. 



174 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

" ' I don't care,' she says, ' I'd just as soon be with the 
Indians as with you.' 

"She'd hardly got the words out of her mouth when 
the Indians came rushing down on them and shot the 
man in the leg and caught the woman up on one of their 
horses. They were off like the wind, and we could hear 
her screarns long after she was gone from sight. Ef/orts 
were made to find her for years, but we never could 
learn what had become of her. 

"You ought to talk with old man White. He is 
eighty-five years old and came here very early." 

Later I had an opportunity to meet this pioneer — a 
white-bearded patriarch with faded eyes and tremulous 
limbs; and yet, in spite of his age and evident weakness, 
I found him at his backdoor splitting stovewood. "The 
first company reached this region on July 24, 1847," 
said he. " Brigham Young was the leader. He was 
sick in his carriage, but he'd seen the place in a vision, 
and when they come over the ridge in sight of the lake, 
he looked out and says: 'That's the valley where we are 
to settle.' 

"The prospects didn't seem very promising then. 
It was a very dry year, and except along the cricks the 
soil was like ashes. Some didn't think we could ever 
grow any crops, and a California man was so sure of it 
that he offered to pay one thousand dollars for the first 
ear of corn we raised. I was afraid we'd all starve. 
Some dug thistle roots and such things to eat. Our 



Life in a Mormon Village 175 

family was fortunate. We had a cow. She'd go to the 
hills to browse around during the day and come back 
at night to be milked, and we mowed canebrakes 
for her. 

"Our first houses were little cabins of logs or 'dobe. 
They had flat roofs of poles with dirt thrown on. The 
roofs weren't rpade to shed rain, because it didn't look 
as if rain ever fell in this desert. But in April it began 
to storm, and sometimes we had rain, and sometimes 
snow. In our house we stretched an oxhide over the 
top of the bed to keep that dry. There were four or five 
inches of water on the floor, and we had to lay down 
sticks to walk on to get to the fireplace. 

"Father and me got a good crop that year, and I 
threshed the first bushel of wheat raised in this state. 
But there were times in both the first two summers 
when we thought the big black crickets was goin' to eat 
up everything. There was such numbers of 'em that 
they'd have ruined us if the gulls hadn't come by mil- 
lions to eat 'em. Then a few years later we had a plague 
of grasshoppers. Lots of 'em were drowned in the lake, 
and they washed up along the shore in great quantities. 
But there were plenty left, and we'd dig trenches and 
drive 'em in and cover 'em with dirt. At night they'd 
roost on the tree-trunks and fences and the posts of the 
piazzas so thick as to hide the wood out of sight. In 
one day they took our wheat, which was growin' nice 
and green, and left the ground just as clean as a floor. 



176 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

We had a big patch of onions, and they shcked 'em out 
right down to the roots. Oh, we had a good many set- 
backs, and the people were poor for a long time." 

But those days are now long past, and comfort and 
prosperity are general. As to the Mormon Church, 
there is not a little ferment and independence in the 
organization. Many of its members are lukewarm or 
lax, and even heretical; and the cohesiveness which 
still characterizes the Church is by some observers at- 
tributed largely to the unreasonable bitterness of its 
Gentile critics. 

Note. — The one place in Utah which is universally known and sure 
to attract the traveller is Salt Lake City. It is fast growing to be a 
great metropolis, and is a handsome town with wide, tree-lined streets 
and a beautiful mountain background. Its chief interest for the gen- 
eral public probably arises from its association with the Mormons, 
and it is still their capital and center of authority. The most impor- 
tant Mormon buildings are in the heart of the city, but neither the 
many-pinnacled temple nor the great mushroom-shaped tabernacle 
have any architectural charm. 

The Lake, which is about twenty miles distant, can be best visited 
by going to the pleasure resort of Saltair. 

But to see the Mormon country at its best, journey to one of the 
farm villages to the north or the south of the capital city, and if possible 
be there on a Sunday to attend church. This will give one an oppor- 
tunity to get acquainted with many Mormon characteristics that other- 
wise would be a sealed book; and the village itself is almost certain to 
be full of a quaint and serene attraction. 



X 



WYOMING DAYS 



IN looking at a map of Wyoming I was especially 
attracted by two towns — Rock Springs and Green 
River. They were not far apart and their names 
were suggestive of a region of crystal waters, and pas- 
toral hills, and vales with pleasant groves of trees. But 
I concluded from later experience that Wyoming land- 
scapes are nowhere made on that plan. You can travel 
for scores of miles and find yourself all the time in a 
region of scanty verdure, its more level portions much 
furrowed by dry, abrupt-banked gullies, and abound- 
ing in steep, flat-topped hills, and towering pillars and 
castellated bluff's of strangely-worn rocks. It is a for- 
saken-looking country, and the few towns are not 
usually of a sort to help much in mitigating the unpre- 
possessing landscapes. 

At Rock Springs coal mining is the chief industry, 
and the sooty, odorous smoke poured from numerous 
chimneys at the mouth of the mines, and not infre- 
quently overspread the town in a gloomy cloud. Early 
in the morning I saw the miners going to their work, 
and late in the afternoon saw them returning clad in 



1 78 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

their grimy clothes, each with a torch stuck in the front 
of his cap. Some of them had such blackened visages 
when they emerged from the mines they appeared de- 
cidely weird and spookish. The place was prosperous, 
and there was employment for all who were willing and 
efficient. Not every person, however, would fit the task 
to which he aspired, as was evidenced by the following 
sign in a restaurant window: "Wanted, man to sell 
lunch on street at night. No dead ones need apply." 

The railroad passed through the center of the town, 
and on either side of the tracks was a row of saloons, 
hotels, and stores, beyond which were the homes. Trees 
were so few and small as to be practically non-existent, 
and the town was no more vernal than was the lonely 
surrounding desolation of greasewood and sagebrush. 
Quite a number of cows were browsing on the village 
outskirts, though what they found to feed on was a 
mystery. "They're lean, now," one of the natives 
observed to me; "but the grass is starting, and they'll 
soon pick up and be hog fat. Every night they'll come 
in just puffed up with feed. Yes, they wiggle around 
in that sagebrush pretty good. They're great travellers 
when they take a notion. I've got a little red cow I 
bought off a man living at Whiskey Gap, sixty miles 
away. After I'd had her eighteen months she con- 
cluded to go back to her old home,andshegot there, too." 

I asked this acquaintance about the people in the 
place, and he affirmed that there was "nothing in town 



Wyoming Days 179 

but Dagos and Greeks." So sweeping a statement 
scarcely fits the facts; for even in the mines most of 
the men are Enghsh-speaking. But if the latter are in 
the majority, the rest are a very polyglot lot. The nation- 
alities employed are many, and as one man said: "You 
find a bunch of miners on the street, and every one will 
be talking a different language." There is a colony of 
Chinese, another of Japanese, and another of Coreans. 
Of these yellow men the Japanese are rated highest as 
workers. The Chinese are the most numerous, and 
they have several streets of ramshackle houses with many 
curious makeshift additions to the original structures. 
Some of the supplementary roofs run so low that it is 
evident the rooms are largely underground. On the 
doors are strange red signs in Oriental hieroglyphics. 

In a wide hollow neighboring the Chinese settlement 
was another peculiar collection of huts. Many of the 
houses were backed up against the steep banks. Often 
the roofs were covered with dirt and were a continua- 
tion of the bank-tops so that it was difficult to say where 
the ground ended and the houses began. Helterskel- 
tered among the dwellings were stables and hen yards 
and dove cotes, and heaps of filth and rubbish, and 
through the depths of the hollow flowed a slow, dirty 
stream. There were other parts of the town decidedly 
better than this, but as a rule the home environment 
was rather oppressively forlorn. 



i8o Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

I wondered how the children spent their spare time, 
the opportunities for amusement seemed so slender, and 
one day I interviewed a group of youngsters who were 
paddling around in a muddy gully. They told where 
the blue birds built nests in holes in the banks, and the 
thrushes in the big sagebrush, and they told about the 
habits of the meadow-larks, the crows, and the hawks. 
"On Saturdays we go four miles out to White Moun- 
tain," they said, "and we take a little gun with us to 
shoot gophers and rabbits and chipmunks. Yes, sure 
we do! There's cedar and willow trees out to White 
Mountain, and tall grass. We carry our lunch in tin 
buckets, and after we're done eating, if there's snow on 
the hillside, we lay the buckets down sideways and have 
a sleigh-ride on 'em. We slide, too, around home in 
winter, and when there ain't sleds enough we use shovels 
instead. By damming the crick we make a pond that 
freezes so we can have a good time skating. When it's 
summer we go barefoot and run races and go in swim- 
ing. Bitter Crick is our best swimming place, and one 
hole there is so deep, if you went out in the middle you'd 
get drownded." 

On the whole I could not help concluding that youth- 
ful pleasure and excitement were to be found there in 
generous measure. 

The town was the railroad center for a vast, thinly- 
settled country roundabout, where were occasional 
ranches and little mines. Certain men made a business 



Wyoming Days i8i 

of carrying supplies to these outlying regions, and some 
of their hauls were for a distance of nearly one hundred 
and fifty miles. A driver who was making regular trips 
about half that far told me it took him a week to go and 
come. His usual load was seven tons. " I have three 
wagons," said he, "hitched one behind the other, and 
back of those is a cooster — a canvas-covered two- 
wheeled cart in which I cook and sleep and carry what 
things I need on the road. I drive twelve horses and go 
alone. Of course, us fellers know all the roads and just 
how to plan stops so the stock won't be too long without 
water. In summer I hobble the horses and let 'em graze 
all night. In winter I turn 'em loose just the same, only 
I put blankets on 'em and scatter hay so they can all get 
at it to eat. Sagebrush does me for a fire in warm 
weather, but when it's cold I carry along a sack of coal." 
During my stay at Rock Springs a man dropped dead 
in one of the saloons. It seemed that he had been " bum- 
ming his way" along the railroad. No one knew who 
he was. When they examined him they found he had 
been stabbed in the breast, apparently about two days 
before, and the wound was the cause of his death. Here 
was a tragic mystery, but the town was used to that sort 
of thing and it occasioned only passing comment. 
"You'd think our country here was kind of civilized," 
said an old resident, "and yet we have one or two mur- 
ders in the region every month; and we have fatal or 
serious accidents oftener than that. The other day one 



1 82 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

of the miners lost his eyesight by the kick of a mule, and 
we got up a benefit dance for him. Everybody bought 
tickets whether they intended to go or not, and the affair 
netted him over twelve hundred dollars. Oh, they're 
a big-hearted people here! " 

I tried to get my informant to tell me something of 
the town's early history, but he said: "I can't talk. I'm 
not well. Lately we elected a mayor here. The different 
parties was all yankin' and yellin', and I'd always been 
over head and ears in politics, but I was feelin' so poorly 
I had to stand one side. Part of the time I was at home 
in bed, and one fellow called and began to argue poli- 
tics with me. He had some drink in, and his talk was 
enough to make a well man sick. 'You get!' I said. 
And you bet he got, too. I'm an old man now, and 
though I've always been hearty till lately I guess I'm 
pretty near ready to pass in my checks." 

So saying, he turned away and hobbled lamely ofl 
homeward. I was disappointed, but I afterward made 
the acquaintance of other pioneers who told me what I 
wished to know. "When I crossed the plains in 1868, 
said one of these, "the railroad ended at Fort Steele 
on the North Platte, and we camped there a few days 
getting ready to start. Our company had about fifty 
wagons, and the oxen that was to draw 'em was grazing 
on the range within sight of the camp. But one after- 
noon there come along a stampeding herd of buffaloes — 
several hundred of 'em, tails up and running as fast as 



Wyoming Days 183 

they could go with all the old bulls in front. They 
plunged right in amongst our cattle and began to bel- 
low; and then the cattle began to bellow, and off they 
went, every hoof of 'em, just as wild as the buffaloes. 
The cowboys started in pursuit. It was four days be- 
fore the last of 'em returned, and they didn't succeed in 
getting all the cattle even then. 

"After our journey began we had adventures every 
day. There were Indians around, and we kept out- 
riders five or six miles ahead and on each side watching 
for trouble. Then at night we'd corral the wagons — 
arrange 'em in a circle and pitch our tents in the open 
space that the wagons inclosed. The cooking had to be 
finished and the fires all put out before dark so the 
Indians wouldn't have a chance to pick us ofi^. But we 
never saw one of 'em the whole trip, though I've no 
doubt they saw us right along. 

"One afternoon we come to a wagon standing by 
itself loaded with all sorts of merchandise. Leaning 
ag'in' a wheel was a double-barreled shotgun with one 
barrel discharged, and there was a bed on the ground 
beside the wagon that had bloodstains on the blankets. 
Not far away, was a new-made grave with a board stuck 
up at one end, and these words burned into it with a hot 
iron: 'Killed by Indians.' We looked around and 
studied on what we saw, and our captain said: 'That 
man was never killed by the Indians. There's some- 
thing crooked here. It's easy enough to see that the 



184 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

Indians wouldn't have left that gun there. Besides, the 
wagon has got a whole lot of powder and shot in it, 
which would be the first things they'd have wanted. 
There was two men in this outfit, and one has killed the 
other.' 

"We went on and left the wagon as it was, and late 
the next day we met three men, two on horseback, and 
one on a big black mule, and all of them heavily armed. 
They were going back after the deserted wagon. The 
man on the mule said he was uncle to the fellow who'd 
been killed. He claimed they were going to a place on 
the Sweetwater where there was a gold excitement. 
But the night before we come along they camped, and 
while he was out herding their cattle the Indians shot 
the young fellow. So he drove the cattle over the divide 
and went to get help. 

"And now I want to tell you the windup of that affair. 
A good many years had passed, and I was living here 
at Rock Springs. One day the old ladies got together 
for a tea-party. They was telling their experiences, and 
my mother told about the abandoned wagon and the 
grave beside it that we'd seen when we crossed the 
plains. Then one woman in the crowd began to cry. 
She said she used to know the dead man. Him and her 
was engaged to get married. He'd started with his 
uncle for the mines, and he was going to marry her when 
he came back. 



Wyoming Days 185 

"Soon after the time of the tea-party therewasaholdup 
on one of our railroads. The sheriff got after the robbers, 
but they killed him and his deputy. Then some big 
posses organized. They shot one robber to death, and 
another they put in jail. While this fellow was in prison 
he tackled the jailer in an attempt to break out. But 
the jailer's wife commenced to scream and yell and 
holler blue murder. Help come, and they lynched the 
prisoner then and there to make sure of having no more 
trouble. The man's picture was put in the papers, and 
I recognized him. He had a great big nose, and was 
known as 'Big-Nosed George;' and he was the same 
person I'd seen riding on a mule going back to the 
deserted wagon. 

"There wa'n't a dozen houses in this town when I 
got here in 1873. They'd begun coal mining in a small 
way, and there was a company store and meat market, 
and two saloons in tents and another in a little frame 
dwelling. It was good hunting here in those days — I 
should say it was! There were deer by the thousand 
and antelope by the million, I guess, and they'd come 
close to town. When you went out with your gun after 
'em, it was more like slaughter than hunting. I've 
stood right in my tracks and shot seven antelope with- 
out stirring. They'd go in droves like sheep; and there 
were lots of elk — sometimes hundreds in a single band. 

"Hunting used to be our chief amusement, though of 
course we played cards a good deal. Once in a while, 



1 86 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

too, there'd be a stag dance that'd last all night, and 
everyone would get drunk. But perhaps the most 
curious fun was when a few of your friends made an 
evening call on you. They'd be sitting around without 
much life in 'em, and someone would say, 'Let's have 
five minutes' roughhouse.' Then they'd all go pullin' 
and tearin' at each other and tumbling around, and 
some were handled pretty rude. However, they were 
all friends, mind you, and not one of 'em got mad. The 
dishes would be smashed and the stove turned over, 
even though it was red hot. But we had to do some- 
thing to break the monotony of the wilderness. After 
the scramble we'd send for a kag of beer, and while 
that was comin' we would clear up the wreckage. 

"One of our summer amusements here is to hire a 
team and go for a drive. The resort most in favor is 
a ranch about twelve miles out. The man there raises 
fine vegetables, and has nice water and a few trees. 
The rancher likes to have the picnickers come because 
they buy his lettuce and buttermilk and such things, 
and it's company for him. He lies around in the shade 
with 'em and always gets a share of their lunch." 

I mentioned to my informant what another townsman 
had said about the frequency of violent deaths in the 
vicinity, and he responded: "Things of that sort you 
hear of now ain't a circumstance to the happenings in 
the past. Take, for instance, the massacree at the 
White River Indian Agency. The savages killed the 




f^ 

^ 

o 

% 

■^ 



Wyoming Days 187 

agent and a few others, and went off to the mountains. 
Then the troops come and made their headquarters at 
RawHns. That attracted a lot of toughs to the place, 
and things got so bad a woman couldn't go on the street 
in the evening without being insulted. There was such 
a lot of drinking and gambling and killing that the 
people got tired of it. So one day all the regular inhabi- 
tants went out of the town a little way and held a meet- 
ing and made themselves into a vigilance committee. 
When they come back they hung three of the ring- 
leaders of the toughs to the posts at the stockyard and 
ordered the rest of the gang to clear out. Those fellows 
didn't need a second telling. By and by the coroner 
got around, and held an inquest, and the jury declared 
that the dead men had met death at the hands of parties 
unknown. After that Rawlins was a good town. 

"But I want to tell you about an occurrence in Rock 
Springs a few years later. Right here in the town you're 
in now we had one of the darndest affairs that ever was. 
There were some seven or eight hundred Chinese work- 
ing in our mines then, and the competition of this cheap 
labor wasn't much to the liking of the other workers. 
But the worst of it was that the Chinese began to think 
they could have everything their own way. They got so 
insolent that if you met one of 'em on the street you'd 
got to turn aside, or he'd swear at you and shove you 
out of his way. The relations of the white and the yel- 
low men was growin' more and more stormy when one 



1 88 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

day, down in a mine, a Chinaman went to work at a 
place where a white man had started, and when the 
white man tried to pull him away he gave a yell for help. 
Others come running to the spot — some Chinese and 
some whites — and there was a fight in which two China- 
men were killed. Everyone hurried out of the mine 
then, and word was sent to the other mines to have all 
their men come out, too. In a little while the whites 
had changed their clothes, got their guns, and held a 
meeting at which it was decided that the Chinese must go. 
The crowd then went over to the huts where the Chinese 
lived and ordered them to move. But that didn't suit 
the yellow men, though it was a nice afternoon in early 
September, and as good a time for moving as they could 
have. The whites then began to shoot in the air, but 
gradually aimed lower and lower until their bullets were 
going right in among the Chinamen. The assailing 
party didn't make any bones about it, for they were 
determined to drive the Chinese out. During the shoot- 
ing they set fire to the huts. There were sixty of them, 
and all went up in smoke except one. That had no 
floor and wouldn't burn. Twenty-seven dead bodies 
were found afterward; but most of the Chinese escaped 
by scattering out over the hills. Some went east and 
some went west and all of 'em struck the railroad after 
a httle and were picked up by a train. They wanted to 
go to San Francisco and back to China, but the soldiers 
came here to keep order and the Chinese were induced 
to return. They weren't so sassy after that." 



Wyoming Days 189 

My stay at Rock Springs ended in a snowstorm. The 
storm began in the evening, and the next morning the 
country had all the bleakness of midwinter in its aspect. 
"It did blow last night all right," remarked one man. 
"It certainly did; and now the snow is melting, and 
the air is so damp I could take a handful and squeeze 
the water out of it." 

I went by an early train to Green River. There, too, 
winter had taken possession, and the ground and the 
roofs were all white. In some of the yards were a few 
apple trees in full bloom and bending beneath the 
weight of the clinging snow, and the town for the mo- 
ment was not without delicate touches of beauty. But 
when the clouds broke away the sun soon played havoc 
with the snow, and the place stood revealed, a grimy 
railroad town in a hollow among the big bare buttes. 
Yet an effort was apparent to live up to its name, for 
little poplars had been started along the streets, and 
there were grassplots in occasional dooryards. The 
river, which threaded its way among the dreary sage- 
brush hills and lofty bluffs of gray, red, and yellow- 
colored strata, was quite idyllic in nooks here and there, 
and was apt to have a bordering of cottonwoods. 

As I was passing a tent on a lowland level a man 
accosted me from its doorway. "You're a stranger, 
ain't you.?" he inquired. "I s'pose you're takin' an 
invoice of this country. It's quite a scenery to people 
from back East. 



IQO Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

"This snow we've had will provide good feed on the 
range; but it must have made the sheep men jump. A 
snowfall so late in the season is pretty hard on the young 
lambs. There's a terrible lot of sheep in this state, and 
they're pretty profitable — you bet they are! The sheep- 
men get the feed for nothing, and our Wyoming moun- 
tain grass is equal to Nebraska oats. The sheep have 
to be watched all the time, and a herder and camp- 
mover go along with every flock. They have a wagon 
to live in, and the herder has a couple of dogs to help 
him. He couldn't do a thing in the world with the sheep, 
unless he had dogs, they're so contrary and stubborn. 
You can't learn a sheep nothing. It's too muleheaded. 
A dog will do more in handling a bunch of sheep than 
fifty men. 

"Usually the herders can take things easy, but it's a 
lonesome life, and dangerous, too, sometimes. In winter 
the sheep must be got together every night in a nice, 
sheltered place where the wind don't blow. But per- 
haps a storm will come up and the wind shift around. 
Then very likely the sheep will leave the bed ground and 
drift on before the storm. The herder has to get out 
and try to keep 'em together, and turn 'em so they won't 
get scattered and lost, or be goin' over some precipice. 
The snow will be blowin' so blame bad he can't see, 
and he don't know the direction he's goin' any more'n 
the man in the moon. So every once in a while some 
herder out on the range freezes to death. 



I 



/ 




The fishermen 



Wyoming Days 191 

"The worst enemies of the sheep are the coyotes. 
There ain't any better judges of mutton than those 
animals are, and they always pick out the choicest. 
Last winter four men trapped over twelve hundred in 
this county for the sake of the hides and the bounty; 
but you go out in the hills and sleep over night and you 
wouldn't think there were any less. They're awful 
sneakin' and cunning, and you have to look out for 'em, 
'specially on stormy nights. They ain't lyin' by the 
stove then, but are out to rustle. That's the time they 
get their harvest by picking up stray sheep, or by flying 
into a herd and cutting ofF a bunch. They work to- 
gether. You can tell that by the way they answer each 
other — just like the roosters answer each other crowin.' 
They have an unearthly yell, and if a man hears it close 
enough it'll make him sit up and take notice. I don't 
mind their noise myself, and I like to snug the blankets 
up about me and listen to 'em. It's a plaintive, funny 
kind of a sound, and they will change their notes as 
fast as you could change your fingers around playing a 
piano. The yelps and howls get all twisted together, 
and the racket from a single coyote will last a full minute 
without a pause to take breath. You'd think there were 
half a dozen, and when several are together they sing a 
regular old chorus." 

As I was about to part with the tent-dweller he re- 
marked: "I suppose, now that you've happened here 
in this late snowstorm, you think we have curious 



192 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

weather, but this ain't a fair sample. Take it the year 
through, and our chmate is about as good as they make 
'em; and we have the finest fall that ever was seen, 
quiet and fair for weeks together. The weather has 
changed some from what it used to be. I know years ago 
most every summer afternoon toward night you'd notice 
a cloud about the size of your hand coming up over the 
mountains. Gradually it would spread across the sky, 
and you'd go to bed at night thinkin' there'd be a down- 
pour; but not a drop of rain would fall. You'd seldom 
hear any thunder either, though the lightning was flash- 
ing so you could pick up needles and pins, almost. Our 
summers now are pretty hot at times, but we are sure 
to have cool nights, and you always need a blanket over 
you. So a man can depend on sleeping comfortably, 
and that's a great blessing. Yes, a fellow is much better 
ofi^ here on a summer night than sweating and stifled in 
the hot muggy air you have in the East." 

Whether his enthusiasm was fully justified might be 
open to debate, but it is always a pleasure to meet a 
person who believes in the superiority of his own par- 
ticular region. 

Note. — The part of Wyoming to which this chapter is devoted can 
hardly claim to be ideal country for the sightseer. Yet the scenery is 
often ruggedly impressive, and the towns have a certain attraction in 
spite of their rather forbidding environment. The human element 
at least is unfailingly interesting. These towns are the trading centers 
for such herdsmen, miners, ranch-dwellers and others as venture into 



Wyoming Days 193 

the vast outlying wilderness, and whose labor and experiences are 
always matters of discussion, and whose coming and going imparts a 
peculiar individuality to the Wyoming town activities. Perhaps the 
best time for a visit is when the great flocks of sheep are driven to the 
vicinity of the settlements to be sheared. That is the busiest season 
of the year and affords the only opportunity for seeing the wandering 
flocks to advantage without going far into the wilds. 



XI 

MOUNTAIN AND VALLEY IN MONTANA 

THE biggest town in the state, and the one best 
known to the world outside, is Butte, high among 
the mountains near the continental divide. It 
has almost one hundred thousand inhabitants, and is 
old as age is reckoned in that new country, yet it is still 
spoken of as a mining camp. Indeed, without the 
mines, it would fade into insignificance; but, as things 
are, the town is a source of enormous wealth. From it 
comes one-fourth of all the world's production of copper, 
as well as considerable quantities of gold and silver; 
and the revenue from the Butte mines is equal to the 
entire income of the government of Holland. 

The town is on the long slope of a hill, the crest of 
which is a steep ridge terraced with waste from the 
mines, and dotted here and there with rude groups of 
buildings and lofty smokestacks. That final ridge is 
particularly ugly, yet counting the riches that have come 
from it in the past and that still lie buried in its depths 
it is the most valuable hill in the world. You might 
fancy that one result of this wealth would be a beautiful 
city; but the reality is far otherwise. While I was there, 




In toe mining district of Butte 



Mountain and Valley in Montana 195 

the streets, except for a few that were paved, were about 
three inches deep with a black, sticky mud which threat- 
ened to engulf me at every crossing. The place has its 
fine buildings, but log structures still survive even in the 
heart of the city, and most of the dwellings are only one 
story high, closely crowded, and often shabby. Below 
the town, on the low levels at the foot of the slope, are 
great dark heaps of slag, and broad wastes of sand and 
mud, the results of mining, both past and present. 
Bordering these flats several big bare mountains rise 
rugged and imposing, and in the distance is a range of 
snowy peaks. 

Butte began as a gold camp. The first wandering 
prospectors came into the region in 1863. At first they 
simply panned or rocked the silt along the streams. 
The panning was done in a big shallow metal dish, 
eighteen inches across and five deep with the sides 
slanting sharply outward. The prospector put in a few 
handfuls of soil, dipped up some water with the pan, 
then shook it and gradually let the dirty water escape 
over the edge. This process of dipping and washing 
was repeated until he had only gold left. The washing 
took only a few minutes, and the gold remained be- 
hind, simply because it was heavier than the rest of the 
soil. It requires good rich dirt to make panning profit- 
able. Anything less than an average of ten cents to a 
washing is not considered satisfactory. But on a basis 
of three cents worth of gold to a pan it is worth while to 



196 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

do sluicing. If the miner who wishes to adopt this 
method of securing gold is hard up, he will very likely 
resort to rocking to get the means to pay for sluice boards 
and supplies. Rocking was a California discovery. 
A party of forty-niners reached a place where they 
wanted to do sluicing, but no lumber was to be had. 
So one of the men took a cradle he had brought along, 
fitted the bottom board with riffles, and adjusted this 
board so it slanted a little from the head to the foot. 
At the head he fastened a coarse sieve of perforated tin, 
and as dirt and water were thrown in this it screened out 
the coarsest stuff. Then by rocking the cradle, as more 
water was added, the gold was caught in the hollows of 
the riffles, and the lighter dirt and grit flowed off. Two 
men were needed for this job; one to shovel in the silt, 
while the other rocked the cradle and poured in the 
water taken from the stream with a long-handled dipper. 
Often there remained mixed with the gold a little mag- 
netic sand which was too heavy to be washed away 
without also losing some of the yellow metal. To dis- 
pose of it, the mixture was dried over a fire. Then a 
magnet between a fold of paper was held over the gold, 
and the sand would jump up and cling to the paper. 
After that it was only necessary to move the paper to 
one side, slip out the magnet, and the sand fell off. 

The gold miners at Butte adopted for a time the usual 
simple methods of securing gold, and then hydraulic 
mining became common. All the soil on the lower slope 



Mountain and Valley in Montana 197 

of the present town site was washed off, and in some 
places it was twenty feet deep. 

According to an early settler with whom I chatted 
copper mining did not begin until about 1880, "We 
knew there was copper here," said he, "but there was 
nothing very promising showed up at the surface, and 
one of our richest mines was once traded off for an old 
cayuse and a saddle and bridle. The more ambitious 
miners neglected the hill just above the town, and froze 
to death prospecting on the mountains; or perhaps they'd 
escape freezing, and instead would work themselves to 
death on their claims; or they'd get disgusted with their 
luck and shoot themselves. Really, those that made 
most in this camp were a class of miners who took life 
easy— lazy old bachelors, who were so shiftless they 
didn't care to exert themselves. They'd pound rocks 
just enough to get and hold some claim that no one else 
would have, and the rest of the time they loafed in their 
cabins. But it finally commenced to dawn on them that 
these copper claims was goin' to be valuable some day, 
and pretty soon the owners were rich. The money just 
piled in on 'em — they couldn't keep away from it. 

"As soon as copper began to be mined in quantities 
some big smelters were built here. The smelting was 
done by roasting the ore on the ground with wood fires. 
That set free fumes of arsenic and sulphur, which filled 
the air all through the region. By George! it was fear- 
ful. The place was a regular hell with the smoke and 



198 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

the smells; and the arsenic killed all the grass and trees 
for miles around. There was just bare earth and rocks 
left. It doesn't seem reasonable that such fumes could 
be very conducive to human life, but we weren't affected 
the way the vegetation was. People would cough, and 
some of 'em would tie handkerchiefs over their mouths 
and noses. The smell was worst when the air was 
dryest. Then it would pretty near cut your lungs right 
out, and at times I'd find myself wheezing as if I was 
about to be suffocated. 

"Great volumes of smoke were always rolling up 
from the smelters, and I've known that smoke to settle 
down and hang here for weeks. When you climbed up 
above it and looked down you saw it lying in the valley 
like a blue lake. When there was fog, that and the 
smoke would get mixed, and be so thick you'd bump 
into people as you walked on the street, and the hack 
horses had to be led from the depot to the hotels. The 
sun would be hidden from sight completely, and if you 
got under an arc light it would seem like just a little 
spark above you, and you'd wonder what it was. Team- 
sters going outside of the town would get lost, and they'd 
unhitch their horses and hunt their way back to the 
stable. It might be a week before they'd find the wagon. 
If the weather was cold, that infernal smoke penetrated 
your clothes and seemed to make it colder. The gloom 
and the odors and the desolation were so bad that at 
last the people got up a crowd and took teams and went 



Mountain and Valley in Montana 199 

and smothered the smelter fires with dirt. The mayor 
was with 'em doing his part to help; and after that the 
owners of the smelters moved into another valley, and 
built 'em so they wouldn't turn the region there into a 
desert as they had here. Now the poison is gradually 
getting washed out of the soil and we're trying to have 
lawns and trees and flowers again. It's not yet a town 
that strangers like at first sight, and if they settle here 
they declare they'll move away just as soon as they get 
the means. But the wages are high, and life is freer 
and easier than in most places, so that people who get 
used to Butte are never satisfied to live anywhere else. 
"Until 1885 the buildings were mostly of logs, though 
some places of business were faced up with lumber to 
give 'em a better appearance. Sunday was the liveliest 
day of the week. All the prospectors came in from the 
country then, every store was open, and the gambling 
houses were running full blast. You could look right 
into the gambling dens from the street and see the 
twenty dollar gold pieces stacked up on the tables. The 
early miners were Americans as a general thing. They 
were frontiersmen who had run away from too much 
civilization. At their former homes the folks had got 
too strict, too religious or something, and these men 
felt they had to fly away as far as possible. There was 
nothing mean or stingy about 'em. If you saw a fellow 
you knew who wa'n't treating to drinks or spending no 
money, you knew he must be broke, and when it was 



200 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

mealtime you'd say, 'Well, Jack, you ain't e't yet — 
come on and eat with me.' 

"They were a liberal and hospitable people, and 
nobody starved in this country. They'd divide their 
last mouthful with you — yes and divide their bed with 
you, and it made no difference whether there were gray- 
backs in it or not. Every cabin had a buckskin latch- 
string, and it was always out. They never thought of 
locking any doors in a mining camp. Supposing you 
were off in the mountains and hungry, and you came to 
a cabin where no one was at home — you'd step in and 
help yourself to food, cook it, wash the dishes, and go 
about your business. 

"We had no holdups then — at least not of individuals; 
or if there was, the vigilance committee got after the 
party they thought was responsible and hung him. 
Nov/ you can't even leave an ax outdoors but that some- 
one will borrow it and forget to return it, and there's 
lots of petty larceny thieves who steal just to be put in 
jail and fed. 

"As a rule the miners are spendthrifts and always 
have been; but their worst enemy today is the credit 
system. For instance, young people marry and start 
housekeeping, and when they find they can get trusted 
for what they buy they begin to live a little beyond their 
means, and by and by they no longer have any honor 
about paying their debts. It doesn't matter what their 
income is. if they got ten dollars a day they'd be broke 



Mountain and Valley in Montana 201 

before the next pay day came just the same. The old- 
timers spent their own money, but they didn't sponge 
on other people. Whatever their faults, they were good, 
sincere men. That is one reason why they weren't 
religious. It's about as "'twas with me when I was a 
boy. I wanted to be pious, and I'd try to pray; but it 
would flit through my mind that Pete Mason and I was 
goin' tishin' on Sunday, and I give up. It didn't seem 
right to pretend to be religious when I was doin' things 
I knew religion didn't approve of. 

" I've spent a good deal of my time here placer mining 
in the mountains, and men are still washing out gold in 
that way within fifteen or twenty miles of here. The 
gold hunter leads a great life. There's a romance about 
it to be found in nothing else. You're in close touch 
with nature, and the gold you get isn't just an ordinary 
commodity. It was made in the form you found it by 
the power that made the world. A dollar of it seems 
worth five gained in any other way. I didn't use to 
notice the time go by. When night came, after working 
hard all day, I'd wish I could keep right on. If we had 
dry weather so there wasn't water enough for working I'd 
take my gun and go after game. I was hearty and well. 
A man never could feel better under any conditions. 

"Some of those fellows prospecting among the moun- 
tains are now old men. If they make money they drink, 
gamble, speculate — any way to get rid of it. One of 'em 
that I know is over seventy, but when he gets a dram or 



202 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

two of nose paint he thinks he's one of the boys, and 
then he don't care how the money goes. He and his 
pardner have a small ranch where they raise a little 
wheat and stuff, and after working through the week 
they get a jug of liquor, bet five dollars as to which is 
the best marksman, and spend Sunday shooting at a 
target and emptying the jug. He went East to his rela- 
tives a while ago intending to stay with 'em the rest of 
his days. But he was soon back. 'That sort of life 
would kill me,' he said. 'I couldn't stand it.' " 

To see Montana in another aspect I visited the Galla- 
tin Valley known as "the garden spot of the state." It 
is about thirty miles long and half that broad. Much 
of it is as level as a floor, but along the borders are big 
softly rounded hills with a background of impressive 
mountain ranges. The soil is justly celebrated for its 
fertility, and prosperity is general. Many of the farmers 
stay on their farms only during the season that the crops 
need attention and spend the winter in homes that they 
own "in town," which usually means Bozeman, the 
metropolis of the valley. Bozeman is, however, not 
much more than a snug country village, embowered in 
trees and quite suggestive of sociable serenity. The 
educational advantages of the town are one of its at- 
tractions; for in addition to the schools usually found 
in any good-sized community there is a college. "The 
biggest part of the valley children graduate from the 
high school," an acquaintance remarked to me, "and 



Mountain and Valley in Montana 203 

those that want to make something besides farmers 
out of theirselves go to college afterward." Often the 
young people move to town in the autumn and attend 
school and do their own housekeeping, while their par- 
ents continue at the farm till the harvest is ended. 

On the uplands a good deal of dry farming is being 
done, and excellent crops are produced where formerly 
it was thought only grazing was possible. Dry farming 
does not mean that crops can be raised in soil devoid of 
moisture, but that by proper treatment the soil is made 
to conserve its moisture for crop nourishment instead of 
giving it off into the air. The ploughing is done in the 
spring. Then the land is thoroughly disked and har- 
rowed, and after every rain it is harrowed again. By 
keeping the surface pulverized a sort of blanket is formed 
which prevents the moisture from escaping. Finally 
fall wheat is sown and the land then takes care of it- 
self until harvest time. 

There were still occasional straw stacks around the 
farmhouses and here and there in the fields. " We won't 
get shet of them this year," said one farmer. *' Usually 
the stock tear 'em to pieces and eat considerable, but 
last fall the feed was so good in the pastures we didn't 
use no roughness hardly." 

On one of my rambles a shower drove me into a 
farmhouse, and I sat down in the kitchen. "This is 
Monday," said Mrs. Farmer, "and I don't like to see 
it rain, because Monday is our day for washing if it's fit 



204 Highwavs and Bvwavs of the Rockv Mountains 

weather. Then, too, thev sav that rain on Mondav 
means rain all the week, or three davs an\"wav. I heard 
the robins singing their rain song last night, and this 
storm is no more than I was expecting. I wish we could 
have some prettv weather till the crops are in. It's 
been so wet we couldn't plough.'' 

I mentioned that I had met a man on the road who 
told me the moon was about to chanse. and therefore 
the weather would change also. 

"'^ es," said she, " but did he notice that even- change 
of moon this month was on Fridav .' That's something 
never's been heard of before. So I think it will rain 
everv dav this month. But goodness sakes! I hope not. 
Mv husband ketched an awful bad cold last week, and 
I can't keep him in out of the wet the best I can do. It 
might develop into pneumonv. That's the most dreaded 
disease we have here. People seldom get over it, the 
climate is so high. There's one thing we don't have 
though, and that's malarial fever. We asked about it 
when we moved from Missouri, and thev didn't know 
what 'twas — never had heard of it. Oh, I like this 
countrv fine I 

''Did vou notice the bushes along the roadside all 
white with blossoms .' Thev'll be loaded with berries 
later — sar\"ice berries. You can take your hands and 
just rake them off. Thev're awful good to eat raw — 
healthy, you know, and you can sell 'em in the stores, 
or make 'em into butter. Choke cherries make good 



Mountain and Vallev in Montana 205 

butter, too. You cook 'em and then take and rub 'em 
through a cullender. After that sweeten to taste and 
cook again till the butter is right thick. People lust go 
crazy for choke cherries here. Thev come out from the 
town to pick 'em., and thev claim they're the finest kind 
of medicine; but mv goodness they're dreadful puckers- 
things to eat raw, and vou dassent drink no sweet milk 
after eating 'em. If you do, you'll sure be made sick. 
Raspberries and currants grow in the brush along the 
streams, and vou can find gooseberries in the canyons 
— just quantities of 'em. Up on the mountains there 
are plenty of huckleberries in a good year. I think 
they're the best fruit that grows. You can cook 'em 
and can 'em up anv old wav, and they keep good, no 
matter how vou fix 'em." 

About this time the man of the house came in, and we 
had dinner. Wliile we were eating he remarked on the 
shortness of their seasons. " I can't grow com," he said, 
"except a little sweet corn for roas'in' years; and that 
hardly ever matures enough so it can be used for seed. 
The nineteenth of August last vear we had a killin' 
frost all over this vallev, prettv much. It damaged the 
oats so I don't reckon some men cut theirs at all; and 
the spring wheat got such a setback that it was naturally 
ruined and was no account afterward. The frost nearly 
got awav with the gardens, too. Oh, it was bad! 

"\\hen I first came here I was afraid the winters 
would be too harsh for us, but the cold is still and dr)' 



2o6 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

and don't go right through a fellow as it does in a climate 
that's windy and damp. Yes, this country suits me, 
and when it comes to grain, hay and potatoes, the Gal- 
latin Valley can't be beat." 

The enthusiasm for that particular region which this 
man voiced was shared by most of his neighbors, and 
they were apt to feel that they could never be contented 
elsewhere. One such family with whom I made my 
home for a time occupied a huddle of one-story, dirt- 
roofed log cabins. They were people of refinement, 
and well able to afford a dwelling of more modern type, 
but they had become attached to their home in its primi- 
tive, pioneer form. The buildings were in a little 
meadow with steep protecting hills on three sides, while 
on the fourth side were level lowlands sweeping away 
to lines of distant mountains. Just back of the cabins 
was a grove of big cottonwoods, and a shallow creek 
lingered through the meadow, and gathered at one place 
in a pond where the ducks and geese liked to paddle 
about. The nearest village was four miles distant, and 
the road thither was a most erratic sort of a byway. It 
forded the creek a dozen times, and encountered numer- 
ous barbed-wire gates which must be unfastened and 
dragged aside every time anyone passed through. 

The log cabins were rude, but had a substantial and 
cosy simplicity that was quite pleasing. "We ap- 
preciate 'em most in winter," said the owner. "They're 
much warmer than a frame house." 



Mountain and Valley in Montana 207 

We were sitting in the living room. The logs and 
boards of the roof had been whitewashed, and the walls 
were pasted over with newspapers. It was lighted by 
two small windows. The floor was roughly boarded, 
but the family regarded the cracks and bumps with 
complaisancy, it was so much better than the dirt floors 
of earlier days. In one corner was a cookstove accom- 
panied by a big red woodbox. Many utensils and arti- 
cles of clothing hung on the walls. 

My host's chief criticism of the vicinity was that 
fruit trees did not flourish. "When I was a boy back 
in Ohio," said he, "there was a peach tree in every 
corner of our Virginia rail fences, and I'd sit on the 
fence and eat the peaches till I fell off. After I grew up 
I began to move on west, and in 1859, I took a farm in 
Iowa to work on shares, two-thirds of the crop for me 
and one-third for the owner. I put in oats, corn, and 
wheat. They all turned out fine, but I had trouble doing 
the harvesting and marketing to advantage. For cut- 
ting the wheat and oats I gave my share of the wheat; 
and then for threshing and delivering the grain I gave 
my share of the oats. That left the corn. There was a 
hundred acres of it, and when I shucked it I had to have 
a regular village of corn cribs to store it in. However, 
in order to sell it, the corn must be drawn a long distance, 
and then I couldn't sell it for money, but had to take 
Cottonwood fence boards in exchange. Those boards 
would warp off my wagon before I got back, and when 



2o8 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

I nailed them on to the fence posts they'd warp the nails 
out at one end and twist over so you could nail from the 
other side. I got discouraged, and I finally swapped 
my corn for a watch. The watch was a pinchbeck 
affair that never did run, and later when I come across 
a man who hadn't any watch I asked him what he'd 
give for it. ' Five dollars,' he said, and I sold it to him. 
After keeping it a few months hung on his wall he paid 
two dollars and a half to have it repaired, and then it 
wouldn't go. 

"There was quite a noise about Pike's Peak at that 
time, and in the spring I left Council Bluffs for Denver. 
We had ten men in our company, and six ox-wagons. 
Lots of other outfits were on the road, and we always had 
some of 'em in sight. Once in a wiiile we'd overtake a 
party that was having a fight. Perhaps four or five men 
owned a single wagon, and some were kind of faint- 
hearted and didn't want to go any farther. I've seen 
'em cut a wagon in two, and make it into carts, and one 
cart would go on, and the other return. I recollect one 
big Georgian on the back track. He was barefoot and 
dilapidated, and we laughed at him. 'You'd laugh out 
of the other side of your mouth,' he said, 'if you was me. 
I never was away from home before. I've been to 
Denver. It's a new camp — just a few houses scattered 
over the sand, and things looked so disagreeable I 
thought I'd go back.' 




A problem 



Mountain and Valley in Montana 209 

"Our party went into the mountains looking for gold, 
and in one place the first pan showed two dollars and 
forty cents worth. Then we whipsawed boards enough 
to make a sluice. The sawing was done by fixing up 
two tall sawhorses on which we mounted a log, and 
then, one man standing up above, and one down below, 
we'd work the saw. Sluicing in that particular spot 
didn't prove to be profitable. We were living in a little 
bush shack made by setting up two crotched stakes with 
a pole laid on them from which spruce boughs were 
slanted down to the ground on one side. The spruce 
turned water pretty near as good as a shingle roof. A 
fire out in front served for cooking and kept us warm. 
While we were there three fellows came along who had 
only one blanket between them, and just what food 
they could carry in their pockets. So they e't ofi^ us; 
and they went up the opposite side of the crick and lo- 
cated where there was a pocket from which they took 
out nearly two hundred thousand dollars. 

" By fall of the next year I succeeded in getting to- 
gether eleven hundred dollars and I returned to the 
states and blowed it in before the winter was over. 
Then I came to Montana. I was still gold-hunting, but 
the claims didn't amount to an3^thing here, and in No- 
vember I settled down on this farm. The next spring 
I did some of the first ploughing ever done in Montana. 
I thought this was the most beautiful wild country I'd 
ever seen. There was game running in every direction, 



210 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

and the antelope were so thick you could shoot 'em 
right from your cabin; for they'd come up quite close 
out of curiosity. They were bound to investigate any- 
thing new. If you lay down on the ground and stuck up 
a colored handkerchief on your ramrod, you'd soon 
have 'em within shooting distance. 

"There was plenty of good grazing — buffalo grass 
and bunch grass growing everywhere. A cow could lie 
down and get more feed than she could now walking 
around. I've wintered cattle on the range that'd sell 
for beef in May, and they would be fat, too. Timber 
wolves bothered us considerable, and they are still doing 
lots of damage in the northern part of the state. They 
mostly kill colts and calves, but a bunch of 'em together 
will down anything, if they're hungry. 

"I planted six acres my first year here. Potatoes 
were the main crop, and the yield was tremendous. As 
soon as I got 'em dug I loaded one hundred and eighty 
bushels on a couple of prairie schooners, leaving a little 
space under the bow of the canvas top for a bed. I 
hired a man to go with me, and we hitched up with five 
yoke of oxen to each wagon in order to get over the 
seventy miles of rough trail to Helena. Just before 
starting I used the last of my flour to bake a pone of 
bread. The baking was done in a Dutch oven — a shal- 
low iron kettle with stout legs. You set it on the coals, 
and it had a rimmed cover so you could heap coals on 
top. I've baked as fine bread in a Dutch oven as you 



Mountain and Valley in Montana 211 

could ask to see — light as a cork. On the third night 
we made our last camp about half a dozen miles from 
Helena. By and by I noticed some smoke curling up off 
in the brush, and I went over there and found a man 
who had a little supply of flour. He was willing to sell 
me five pounds for five dollars, and he measured it out 
in a tin cup that wouldn't hold much more'n a half-pint 
and called each cupful a pound. Next morning we had 
fry-pan bread and bacon for breakfast. To make the 
bread I stirred up the flour with a little yeast powder 
and cold water. Then I greased the fry-pan with a 
piece of bacon, turned in the dough, and spread it out 
over the bottom. It rose and filled the pan, and when 
I got it well fried on one side, I flopped it over to give 
the other side a chance. 

" I sold my potatoes in Helena to two grocery houses 
at fifty-two cents a pound, and got a whole bootleg full 
of gold dust for them. Gold dust was the common cur- 
rency in the mining country, and everybody had a pair 
of balance scales for weighing it. No one would think 
of buying or selling anything for less than twenty-five 
cents. Now the minimum price is five cents, and I 
think that's low enough. I went into a store in town 
the other day and they gave me two of those blame 
pennies in change. They were a nuisance. Some of 
the big stores for an advertisement are shoving pennies 
out all the time. The merchants make a price with odd 
cents to have it appear they've trimmed the profit to the 



212 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

Hmit, but the next week they cut the price previously 
made twenty per cent and are getting rich even then. 

" Potatoes hadn't been seen in Helena for a long time, 
and the people were hungry for 'em. I saw a man pick 
out a good big one and ask the price. The merchant 
weighed it and said, 'Just a dollar.' 

"So the fellow handed over the cash and went off 
with the potato in his pocket. For that year's crop of 
potatoes and onions I got sixteen thousand dollars. 

" Potatoes were a luxury and so were most other 
things, but I think we were worst off in the matter of 
tobacco. It was so costly that if a man had a little in 
his pocket he wouldn't take it out in public for fear 
someone would ask him for a chew; but he'd go way 
off on the prairie to take a bite. Often you couldn't 
get any but mouldy, strong old stuff that they called 
Indian tobacco, because it was chiefly used in trading 
with the Indians for furs. 

" It was only the first year that potatoes were a bo- 
nanza for me. A while afterward I tried dairying and 
kept thirty or forty cows. The butter sold for a dollar 
and a quarter a pound; but later the price dropped to 
six bits, and I wouldn't bother with the cows any more. 

"One season I joined a freighting outfit. There were 
fifty men in the company. I had six yoke of oxen 
hitched to two wagons, one wagon trailing behind the 
other. We'd corral the wagons at night — arrange 'em 
in a circle with the back wheel of one wagon chained 




'^ 



Mountain and Valley in Montana 213 

to the front wheel of the next. If it was in a place where 
there was no water, and the cattle would be inclined 
to go off in search of it we'd keep 'em inside the circle 
of the wagons. But as a general thing we night-herded 
'em — that is, let 'em graze with three men watching, 
and changed the guard at midnight. The first part of 
the night the cattle would be feeding pretty steady, and 
after that they'd lie down and get up by spells and 
wander over quite a little territory. Once when we 
were camped at Fort Gilpin, which was just an old 
stockade, about fifty Indians, each lashed onto a black 
horse that shone like a raven, came sailing over the 
sagebrush. They wore their feather bonnets and were 
smeared with red and yellow war paint. One of our 
men was killed and a couple wounded, and the savages 
got away with sixty of our cattle. 

"Another time I saw a fight between two parties of 
Indians — probably a hundred on a side. They were a 
cowardly outfit and would just circle around on their 
ponies and yelp as they approached each other. But 
when they came within about two hundred yards they 
swerved off. They were always on the move, never stop- 
ping for a moment. I could see their arrows glisten in 
the sun, but it looked like they didn't get near enough 
to kill anyone. I believe each party secured one scalp. 

" Besides Indians to keep a man uneasy there were a 
lot of bad whites who floated in from Nevada and Cal- 
ifornia, and in 1864 the road agents elected their chief 



214 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

as sheriff of the whole territory. They were going to 
have things their own way, but a Vigilant Committee 
organized and hunted him out and hung him. He was 
a fine-looking fellow, as smart as steel, and not thirty 
years of age. 

"This country is in most ways all right now, and any 
industrious man of good habits can make money here. 
In fact, nearly all our farmers are free from debt and 
have money in the bank. Isn't it astonishing the 
changes and inventions and wonders that have come to 
pass in the last fifty years. If a man at the beginning of 
that period had prophesied what's taken place they'd 
have locked him up. I'd like to live fifty years more 
just to see how things would be then." 

Note. — Butte is interesting to the traveller as the greatest silver- 
producing center in the United States, and the biggest copper mining 
camp in the world. It has but a single industry, and every inhabitant 
is either directly connected with the mines or in some way caters to the 
wants of those who are thus employed. The region has a somewhat 
sinister aspect due to the fact that the fumes of the smelters have 
blasted nature's greenery for ten miles around, but the grandeur of the 
mountains remains, and the mine dumps and tall chimneys on the 
crests of the hills form striking features of the landscape. 

A more attractive phase of Montana life can be seen by descending 
the mountains to the eastward and visiting the beautiful Gallatin 
Valley. Bozeman is probably the pleasantest stopping-place, and is 
a good center from which to make expeditions into the fine surround- 
ing farming country or to the glens that open back into the environ- 
ing hills. 



XII 

MAY IN THE YELLOWSTONE 

THE Yellowstone National Park is a remnant of 
the untamed wilderness which a few decades ago 
included all the country west of the Mississippi. 
It is, in fact, almost the only easily accessible portion of 
genuine wilderness now left to us, where the woods and 
streams and the creatures that inhabit them are just as 
they would be in undisturbed nature. There are other 
features, to be sure, that give it individuality, and that 
have made its fame world-wide, but I think its wild- 
ness is its most unique charm. 

The northern gateway is the favorite entrance for the 
multitude of visitors whom the Park attracts, and there 
you find a rude little town named Gardiner. I reached 
this place one rainy day when the mountain crests and 
hilltops around were hidden by the overhanging clouds, 
and the somberness of the weather made the hamlet 
appear even more forlorn than usual. Its most preten- 
tious portion consisted of a long row of saloons with a 
few stores and hotels among them, lined up close to the 
Park entrance. They were all of wood, and only a story 
or two in height. The helter-skelter of lesser struc- 



2i6 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

tures which made up the rest of the town stood amid 
rocks and sagebrush, and many of them had log walls. 
It was a Wild West village, seemingly lying in wait 
there, like a spider alert for flies. 

The tourist season was still a fortnight off, though 
May was nearing its end; for the Park is a lofty moun- 
tain fastness where winter holds sway during the greater 
part of the year. I could therefore only find a public 
conveyance for the five-mile climb from Gardiner to 
Mammoth Hot Springs. The vehicle had no canopy, 
and its occupants were exposed to the chilly onset of 
the storm, and to splashes of mud from the wheels and 
the horses' hoofs. 

My fellow passengers were three Irish stonemasons, 
who talked with a brogue and called every wild creature 
they saw a "son of a gun," and who compared the 
scenery to that of the Lakes of Killarney in their native 
Erin. Our road followed up the winding valley of a 
mountain stream which careered down its rocky chan- 
nel in a foaming torrent. As we went higher the rain 
turned to snow, and we had around us lofty whitened 
mountains looming dim amid the falling flakes; and 
then we came to a nook in the upland that gave footing 
for a hamlet of government barracks, hotels, and ac- 
cessory buildings. 

After I had found shelter and warmed myself, I went 
for a walk and climbed the big steep hillside near by, 
where for a half mile or more the hot springs well forth 



May in the Yellowstone 217 

in many scattered spots. The springs are not simply 
hot water gushing up from the ground. They are 
architects and builders; for the water is laden with 
lime which forms series of dainty basins rising terrace 
on terrace, or decorates the slopes with shelving con- 
volutions that in places drop almost perpendicularly, 
and again are nearly level. Another marvel of the lime 
is the color. Some portions of the formation are pure 
white, and some are gray or creamy, while still others 
are yellow, orange, or deep brown, or some shade of 
green. These fountains with the dripping rims, though 
often quite massive, are not very permanent; for the 
limestone is soft, and when a spring shifts its outlet the 
abandoned terrace soon begins to crack and crumble. 
But so long as a basin is supplied with the subterranean 
water its contour is unfailingly graceful, and even the 
details are very charming in their flutings and corruga- 
tions. Sometimes the water boiled with a bubbling 
vigor, but as a rule it gently simmered. Here was a 
nectar of nature's brewing in chaliced cups of a size 
suited to the gods and goddesses of mythology. The 
steaming contents, delicately blue in tint, were ap- 
parently just warm enough to be satisfying and 
comforting. 

In the neighborhood of the springs the snowflakes 
melted as fast as they fell, and numbers of robins and 
other birds hopped around on the bare spots as if to 
warm their feet. The air was gray with the storm, and 



2i8 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

I could barely see the mountains looming roundabout. 
Near at hand were occasional straggling clumps of ever- 
green trees adorned with spotless festoons of snow; and 
the white earth, and the silence, broken only by the soft 
rustle of falling flakes and the equally soft bubbling 
and steaming of the springs, was full of mystery. Once 
a jack rabbit leaped nimbly away, and again and again 
a squad of deer rambled across my path. 

The next morning the storm was nearly over, and 
when I looked out of my window at the hotel I saw the 
footprints of a bear in the snow down below, and noticed 
that the creature had tipped over some garbage barrels 
at the back door. An hour later, when I started on a 
twenty-mile walk to the Norris Geyser Basin, the sun 
was breaking through the clouds, and the snow on the 
evergreen boughs was beginning to drip. The birds 
were singing, and as I plodded along the deer looked 
inquiringly at me from the roadside thickets, and in 
one of the high meadows I saw two or three herds of elk. 

For the first part of the way there were wild canyons 
that yawned beside the trail, and great mountain cliffs, 
but later the route was rather monotonous forest with 
here and there an open glade or a little lake. The snow 
lay six or eight inches deep, and it was slow work toiling 
along the unbroken roadway. At length I met a 
mounted soldier, and later two government mule teams, 
and the path they broke through the snow made the 
walking somewhat easier. Yet the muddiness increased, 



May in the Yellowstone 219 

and the endless slop, slop, slop of my footfalls was de- 
cidedly wearisome. I appreciated the companionable 
mileposts by which I was able to measure my progress. 
Nor could I complain of the road, except for the snow 
and mud. It receives the best of care from the govern- 
ment, and in the dry days of midsummer a score or two 
of sprinklers, just such as one sees on the city streets, 
are busy laying the dust, each going over an allotted 
distance. 

One of the wayside streams was interrupted by fre- 
quent snaggy beaver dams. The beavers have become 
numerous in the Park during recent years; but they 
prey on the fish too ravenouslyto be altogether desirable. 

As I went on signs of the underworld heat that pro- 
duces so many curious spectacles in the region were 
increasingly frequent. Here and there were blasted 
patches of ground where a hot spring welled up, or 
where steam issued from holes and crevices, or perhaps 
there was simply a belching of sulphurous fumes. At 
one point was the "Frying Pan" — a muddy hollow 
containing several shallow pools in a constant sizzle, 
from which a succession of big bubbles were floating 
away down a tiny rill. Another striking sight was what 
appeared to be a burning mountain with many shreds 
of smoke rising from among the trees that had been 
killed by the fumes and heat; and thence came a medley 
of muffled rasping sounds as if the gnomes were run- 
ning a sawmill in the depths of the earth. 



220 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

When I reached Norris I found a barren circular 
valley full of bubbling water-holes and spouting foun- 
tains. Drifting steam was rising from these and from 
many pools and hot streams, and from cauldrons of 
mud at the borders of the Basin, and the air was laden 
with stifling odors. Perhaps the most appalling feature 
was a blast of steam that comes with terrific force from 
a red-throated crevice. Its hoarse voice thrills the valley 
unceasingly. Many of the water-holes erupt at more or 
less regular intervals. Up goes a burst of water accom- 
panied by clouds of steam, but the tumult is soon over, 
and the fountain subsides to prepare for a new explo- 
sion. There are several other geyser clusters farther 
south, and it is at one of these known as the Upper 
Basin that the geysers are seen at their best. Here is 
Old Faithful which spouts every hour, and the water 
column is thrown over one hundred feet in the air, 
retains its height a few moments, and then after many 
weakening rallies sinks hissing and rumbling into its 
brown cone, leaving all the rocky earth about glistening 
and steaming with the hot water. Of course such a 
spectacle is impressive, and so are all the other varied 
manifestations of subterranean power, yet much of this 
is not beautiful, but simply uncanny. 

Most of the Park consists of a high plateau near the 
backbone of the continent that averages seven thousand 
five hundred feet above the sea level. The tourist sea- 
son ends September 15th, and winter soon puts a stop 




//« II pi and brook 



May in the Yellowstone 221 

to all wagon travel. At Norris, the big hotel was still 
vacant except for the family of the winter keeper, the 
members of which had led a lonely life for the last few 
months. "But the snow was less deep than usual," 
said the keeper as we sat by the fire in the evening. 
"We only had four feet on a level, and we got our mail 
mighty near every week. The keepers farther in the 
Park didn't fare so well, especially the man at the 
Canyon. There's only him and his wife, and he didn't 
have any soldiers stationed close by to keep him com- 
pany like we do. None of us can find much work to be 
busy about, and those two pretty near went crazy. 
What we fear most is sickness. A year ago a keeper's 
wife was sick, and the soldiers put her on a toboggan 
and dragged her down to Mammoth Springs. 

" Everybody goes on skees here in winter. I can get 
into a sweat on those even with the thermometer fifty 
below zero. They work good when it's cold. The snow 
won't stick to nothin' then, but a good many days it 
softens some, and then we can only use skees to advan- 
tage early in the morning or late in the afternoon." 

I spoke to the keeper about some of the animals I had 
seen, and of the numerous footprints of wild creatures 
I had observed in the snow and mud. "Yes," he said, 
"we have here about every animal that'll live in a cold 
climate — bears and buffaloes, moose, wildcats, lynx, 
badgers, big-horns, red, black, blue, and silver foxes, 
mountain lions, eagles, and lots of other creatures. They 



222 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

claim there ain't any wolves; but I think I saw one once. 
He snapped his jaw at me and run off, but it was in a 
snowstorm, and I didn't see him real plain. The gov- 
ernment tries to kill off any such animals that are very 
destructive to the other creatures. Mountain lions are 
bad that way. They ketch a good many of our deer and 
elk. I suppose there's quite a lot of 'em in the park; 
but you might stay here a hundred years and never see 
one — they're just that sly. However, they see you and 
will follow you, stopping when you stop and going on 
when you go on. 

"Nearly all the animals are much more plenty than 
they were when I began living in the Park in 1883. I 
didn't see any deer for a long time. They were so wild 
they kept back in the woods. Now they're so tame I 
often feed 'em out of my hand. One of the most 
interesting things I know of is to see a deer kill a snake. 
It will leap into the air, put all four feet within a few 
inches of each other and light on the snake so quick 
that the snake don't know what's happened. The deer 
is off at once, and then makes the same kind of a jump 
again and again, till its sharp hoofs cut the snake right 
in two. A deer will kill every snake it comes across. 

"One queer creature we have in the Park is a wood 
rat — a tremendous big fellow with a flat tail as large 
around as your finger. It likes to beat on the floor with 
that tail, and makes as much noise as you could with a 
stick. For a nesting place it prefers some dark loft 



May in the Yellowstone 223 

where it uses all sorts of rubbish in building- a nest that 
would fill a barrel. Whatever it can get hold of that is 
not too heavy or bulky it carries off. We might leave 
our shoes and socks here by the stove, and perhaps one 
of those rats would carry 'em off. But the chances are, 
if it wasn't disturbed, it would bring 'em back the next 
night. 

"The worst nuisance we have though in the way of 
wild varmints is the bears. They're raising Cain all 
the time, and there's getting to be lots of 'em. The 
grizzlies are the bosses. When a bunch of the cinna- 
mons and blacks are together at a hotel garbage heap 
they all get up and run fit to kill themselves if a grizzly 
comes around. Some of the bears are big fellows that 
have a footprint the size of a pan. About this time of 
year they're beginning to fish in the small streams. 
They'll lie down at the edge of the water and watch 
perfectly still, and then give a slap that'll throw a trout 
way out on the land. 

"They make lots of trouble for tourists with tents and 
wagons. I was camping in the Park one time, and a 
bear smelt my provisions and come right after 'em. It 
was night and dark, and every time I heard the bear 
prowling around I'd throw something at it, and I had 
to spend all the next day picking up the articles I'd used 
for bombarding the creature. 

"I used to have a mule that liked nothing better than 
to chase a bear up a tree. Then he'd back up to the 



224 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

foot of the tree and wait for a chance to kick the bear 
when it came down. Oh, the mules hke to fight a bear. 
They'll run one off into the timber any time. 

"The bears are not at all dangerous as a general 
thing. I threw a stone at one the other day, and whop! 
it hit him a bat side of the head, and away he went. 
Sometimes I've caught a bear by the tail when he had 
his head in a slop can. He'd leave the can in a hurry 
and start for the woods, and perhaps I'd chase him 
about half a mile lust for fun. But if the bear stopped, 
I'd go the other way. One night I opened the door to 
go out and almost tumbled over a grizzly with eyes as 
big as dinner plates. I tell you I broke and run into the 
house over the tables and chairs and things. Unless I 
can see and have a notion of what a bear is planning to 
do, I don't take any chances monkeying with him. 

" You want to look out about coming to close quarters 
with a bear that has cubs. If you get between a cub and 
its mother, the first thing you know the old bear is onto 
you, and you don't last long. There was a tourist come 
to the Park once makin' his brag that he was goin' to 
have his hands on a bear. That's a kind of hobby with 
some people — they want to get their hands on a bear. 
The men here told him he'd better not, but that didn't 
make any difference. So one day he and his wife saw 
a bear with two cubs, and they gave chase. One cub 
ran up a tree, and the man touched it as it was climbing. 
He'd succeeded in his stunt, but the old bear didn't know 




"^ 



May in the Yellowstone 225 

that was the end of the game. She went for him and 
knocked him down. His wife drove the bear off with a 
club, but the man was clawed up so bad he died soon 
after he returned to his home in the East. 

"Another fellow who had a hankering to put his 
hands on a bear was a Chinaman cook up at the Lake 
Hotel. If a bear happened around when he was off 
duty he'd go and chase it. I was in the woods up in that 
region one time when I heard a bear comin' rippity- 
dash through the timber, and it was sure tearin' up 
the brush; and behind it was the Chinaman hollerin' 
'Hoop! hoop! hoop!' The bear started up a tree, and 
the Chink grabbed it by a hind leg. But the bear turned 
and gave him a swipe with its paw that cut his arm 
plumb to the bone. He'll carry the scar to his grave." 

The keeper's wife had joined us while we were talk- 
ing, and she now remarked: "I think bear meat is just 
lovely. I'd as soon have it as the best pork that ever 
was. In fact, I'd rather have it, because pork, you 
know, is apt not to lay good on your stomach, but bear 
meat never troubles you that way, no matter how much 
you eat." 

"I wish they'd let us shoot a few of these bears," said 
the keeper. " But the government is very strict about 
prohibiting the use of firearms by anyone except the 
soldiers. It's strict in a good many other ways, too. 
People are not allowed to soap the geysers or to carry 
away souvenirs the way they used to." 



226 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

"There's one family I know," said Mrs. Keeper, 
"that has a piece of Hme deposit they took from up by 
the lake in the early days, and it's as big as a stove." 

" But they couldn't have carried away such a piece," 
objected the keeper. "They couldn't come in herewith 
wagons. There were no more roads than a jack 
rabbit has." 

"Oh — get out!" retorted the lady. "What's the 
matter with you f All the old-timers went through here 
with wagons, though maybe that piece wasn't quite as 
large as I said." 

"Anyhow," resumed the keeper, "it got so people 
would lug off anything they could carry, and the gov- 
ernment made 'em quit. Soaping the geysers was an- 
other freak of the public. If soap was thrown in, it 
seemed to stir 'em up and make 'em spout. The largest 
geyser in the Park was ruined by a dose of soap which 
a soldier gave it, and which resulted in its blowing to 
pieces. Then there was a Chinaman who had a laundry 
in a tent at the Upper Basin. He emptied his soapsuds 
where they ran into a geyser, and the geyser exploded 
after a while and blew up the fellow's tent." 

The longest walk I made while in the Park was from 
Norris to the Canyon. Including the various asides, I 
covered that day twenty-six miles. The jaunt, when I 
set out, promised to be exceptionally fatiguing; for the 
snow lay deep, and at every step I broke through a 
crust that had formed during the night. But I soon got 



May in the Yellowstone 227 

into a path made by two bears which had followed the 
road, one behind the other, almost the entire distance 
to the Canyon. The imprint of their broad feet was 
clearly marked and had a savagely human aspect. I 
decided to give the creatures the road if I chanced to 
meet them, and that I would climb a tree if they were 
inclined to cultivate my acquaintance. But probably 
they would have made as hasty a detour as any I con- 
templated. At least, two grizzlies which I attempted to 
approach one evening in the neighborhood of the hotel 
where I was stopping, promptly scampered off into the 
brush with just such snorts of alarm as a hog makes 
when suddenly frightened into flight. 

The road that the bears and I followed was, for much 
of the distance, an avenue through the sober pine forest. 
I was in a howling wilderness, if ever there was one, 
but the nearest approach to howling that I heard was 
the sonorous honking of wild geese. From the marshes 
came the stuttering notes of a multitude of frogs. Sev- 
eral times I heard partridges heralding the spring with 
the resonant roll of their drums, and once in a while I 
would see a chipmunk scudding timidly across the 
snow, or a squirrel would chatter at me and accuse me 
of being an undesirable citizen of the forest. 

The winter keeper at the Canyon Hotel welcomed me 
cordially, for it had been a long time since he had seen 
anyone from the outside world. He was a young man, 
but decidedly bald, which he took pains to explain was 



228 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

because he found it convenient one summer to wash 
his head daily in a hot spring. " And that sulphur water 
takes your hair out all right," said he — "kills it dead as 
a doornail." 

We went together to view the Canyon. This is un- 
doubtedly the finest scenic attraction of the Park. It 
is a narrow glen worn more than a thousand feet deep 
in the many-tinted rocks, and graced with a noble 
waterfall. The long leap of the stream, and the beauti- 
ful color and imposing depth of the chasm, combine to 
make the waterfall one of the most notable of which 
America can boast. My guide as he looked down from 
the verge of a crag on the warm-toned rocks of the tre- 
mendous ravine said: "There's all kinds of gold in 
that Canyon." 

Surely the color might lead one to infer as much; but 
why dream here of wealth, except that conferred by the 
golden inspiration of the scene ^ It was quite warm 
there in the glen, and the snow was gone except for 
remnants of drifts. " This is the tail-end of our winter," 
said the keeper; "but we are never sure of steady hot 
weather. There's liable to be a cold snap and snow- 
squalls at almost any time. That's a thing the tourists 
from lower, warmer sections of the country are apt not 
to think of, and lots of 'em come here with nothin' on 
and really suffer." 

It is possible to make the tour of the Park in several 
different ways. To walk is ideal for a few, to take the 




The falls in the canyon 



May in the Yellowstone 229 

regular lines of coaches is best for the majority, and an 
occasional partv will prefer to go with its own team and 
tenting outfit. While I was on the train, after leaving 
the Yellowstone, a Wyoming man who had made a 
rustic trip to the Park in 1895 gave me an account of 
his experiences. "There were two of us," said he — 
"an old Texas soldier and me. He furnished the wagon 
and horses, and I furnished the grub. We went right 
through the mountains to the Park from the eastern 
part of the state, and we got to her about the middle of 
summer. I made a mistake in mv pardner. He was an 
old crank who didn't care for no natural scenen'. The 
only thing he wanted to do was to kill antelope. So he 
was shooting 'em all the way — that is, he shot at 'em — 
he didn't get 'em. But when we reached the Park the 
guards took his gun awav. There was nothing he was 
interested in after that, and he didn't want to stop anv- 
where. I was bound to make the tour, though, and he 
spent most of the time Iving around camp. I'd liked to 
have had an educated man with me who had some sense 
and would have reasoned with me about what we saw. 

"\\ell, we went all around. Those hot springs a'"e a 
wonder, ain't they? and oh mvl ain't the falls at the 
Canvon grand .' While I was at the Xorris Basin some 
of the tourists came in their fine coaches; and the ground 
there, where the hot water holes and gevsers are, looked 
so shakv thev wouldn't venture out on it. But I did, 
and I savs to 'em: 'This mav be more riskv than I 



230 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

think, and if I break through into the infernal regions 
underneath I wish you'd write and tell my wife what 
has become of me.' 

"The paint pots are kind of dangerous to fool around, 
too. And how did that mud geyser suit you .? It has the 
darndest smell of any hole in the Park. I seen Old 
Faithful spout, and lots of others. In particular I 
remember the Giantess. She's a dandy fine one! Say! 
but what splendid fishing there is in the Park! Near 
the outlet of the lake I found the best place to ketch trout 
that ever was heard of. I could stand and pull a fish out 
of one stream, and without moving a step or taking him 
off my line flop him over into a hot stream and scald him 
ready to eat — yes, you bet your life! There's no ques- 
tion about some of that Park water being hot. I often 
wrapped eggs in a cloth and putt 'em in a stream or pool 
to boil. The only fault I found with the trip was the 
kind of man I had with me. When we got ready to 
leave I told him he could drive his team home, and I 
went along by train." 

No doubt a sympathetic companion is a matter of 
great importance in contributing to one's enjoyment of 
the Park. Yet even an unsatisfactory comrade cannot 
wholly dull its charm, as was proved in the case of the 
man I have been quoting. At the time I met him he 
was returning home after a long absence to attend the 
funeral of his wife. In spite of his loss, though this was 
sufficiently saddening when he happened to think of it. 




Cj 



May in the Yellowstone 231 

he was full of jovial enthusiasm as he recalled those 
wonderful days in the Yellowstone Park. They had 
left delightful memories which would stay with him 
the rest of his life, and his experience in this respect is 
the usual one of visitors to that wonderland. 

Note. — The railways afford an entrance to the Park from the north 
at Gardiner, and from the west at Yellowstone. Usually the tour of 
the Park itself is made by stage. In a general way, the route consists 
of a circle in the center of the area, and it covers only a small portion 
of the sixty-two miles length and fifty-four miles width of the entire 
Park. But this is the "heart of wonderland," and what lies beyond 
is largely variations of the same themes as are to be found along the 
main thoroughfare. It takes at least six days to go over the route 
comfortably, and more time can be spent to advantage. But better a 
hasty trip of two or three days than to miss the Park altogether. Visit 
at least the Mammoth Hot Springs, one of the geyser basins and the 
Grand Canyon; and in doing this you will see much that is delightful 
along the way. 

The Park is especially attractive as a summer resort because the 
days are never oppressively warm, and the nights are always cool. 
Its fine roads afford the best of opportunities for horseback rides, there 
is splendid trout-fishing, and you can indulge in mountain-climbing 
and camping to your hea rt's content. You will, of course, be interested 
in the remnants of volcanic action dying out in geysers, pots of boiling 
mud, and earth-rents hoarsely discharging their sulphurous steam. 
But of all the Park's attractions I would rank highest the chance to 
see the wild creatures of the forest. Here they are protected from the 
attacks of the hunters; and even the buff"alo — that nearly extinct 
monarch of the plains — draws about him in security the pitiful rem- 
nant of his once mighty herd. Two companies of United States cav- 
alry are stationed in the Park to prevent the spreading of forest fires 
and the commission of acts of vandalism. 

One should be prepared for sudden changes of weather and altitude. 
It is well to have wraps at bajid such as shawls and light overcoats. 



232 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

Thick-soled shoes for walking are desirable, and indeed are al- 
most a necessity at the Mammoth Hot Springs and among the geysers 
where numerous tiny streams of hot water are sure to be encountered. 
Colored spectacles and a pair of opera glasses will often add greatly 
to the pleasure of a trip. 



XIII 

Custer's last battlefield 

FEW events in the great Northwest have been more 
tragic and melancholy than the encounter be- 
tween the gallant Custer and the Indians late in 
June, 1876. Not one of the whites escaped to tell the 
story, and all we have learned of the details, except 
what the battlefield itself discloses, has come from the 
hostile red men. The struggle took place in southern 
Montana, not far from what is now the village of 
the Crow Agency. Through the lowlands flows the 
winding, tree-fringed Little Bighorn River, and on the 
broad alluvial lowlands are many small farmhouses 
and fertile grain-fields belonging to the Indians. 

Between the Agency and the battlefield, a distance of 
three miles, is a level stretch of pasturage where a few 
horses are usually to be seen grazing. Then you come 
to hills rising in a long and often steep sweep to a high 
ridge that overlooks all the country for miles around. 
Along this ridge the battle was fought. It is a dreary 
spot, entirely devoid of trees or other marked features. 
The soil is full of small stones scantily hidden by growths 
of sagebrush, prickly pear, and tufts of coarse grass. 



234 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

The other ridges of the region have the same character, 
but on the western horizon Hes a low range of blue 
mountains, and the strip of valley bordering the stream 
is vernal and inviting. 

For a mile along the hillcrest is a scattering of white 
gravestones, each marking the spot where a soldier's 
body was found. Some of these occur in groups, others 
singly, and they are a pathetic indication of the fierce 
struggle of the troops to defend and disentangle them- 
selves from the clutch of their savage enemies. Occa- 
sional stones are far down among the steep-sided coulees 
that furrow the rough slope, as if the men had made 
sorties in an endeavor to reach the river. No water 
was to be had nearer, and the lack of it was a serious 
handicap. 

The last stand was made just under the western brow 
of the extreme north end of the ridge, where it rises 
highest — a cool and windy spot usually, but on a still 
summer day baking hot. Opposite this height, on the 
other shore of the river, the Indians had their encamp- 
ments straggling along for two miles or more. Each 
party was in plain viewof the other, and at all times knew 
its opponent's movements and condition, Custer fell 
in the midst of his men, and a wooden cross marks the 
location where his body was found. I did not think 
this rude memorial was altogether appropriate, but 
nothing is safe from the rapacity of the relic-hunters, 




The spot uhere Custer jell 



Custer's Last Battlefield 235 

and when thev have destroved one cross by earning 
it otf splinter bv splinter another can be set up in its 
place at small expense. 

The general opinion of the people in the \\ estern 
countrv seemed to be that Custer made a foolhardy 
sacrifice of himself and his men. One informant, whose 
views are tvpical of those I usually heard, expressed 
himself thus: 

"Custer was what vou might call a dude — more 
show\' than practical; but for dashing bull-headed 
bravery he couldn't be beat. If there was fighting he 
didn't go behind, the wav some officers do. He'd take 
the lead; and he didn't have no more use for an Indian 
than for a rattlesnake. As soon as he saw one his blood 
began to boil and he was bound to kill him. The In- 
dians had some advantages, though, over him and his 
men. If the soldiers were to cut loose from their teed 
wagons they'd perish. Civilized food was a necessity*, 
while the Indians were perfectly free to go where they 
pleased and would live on anything they could get hold 
of. They iust liked to be chased by soldiers. \\'hat did 
Indians care for them, or for the kids from the hospital 
— West Point — ^who officered them .' A hundred cow- 
punchers were worth a whole regiment of soldiers, and 
I'd rather have had 'em — ves, or miners. Cow-punch- 
ers and miners were a class that would fight any blame 
man in those days. \\ hen they went into a fight they 
meant business, and the Sioux had a great fear of 'em. 



236 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

"One thing that perhaps had a good deal to do with 
this particular battle was that Custer had been over- 
stepping the mark in various ways so that he was out of 
favor with some of the higher officers and the authorities 
in Washington. He wanted to regain a little lost pres- 
tige by winning a spectacular victory. Orders had been 
given to fall back, if he discovered the enemy, and wait 
for reinforcements. But he didn't do that. He didn't 
even reconnoiter to find out what he needed to do. 
There was no attempt at stratagem, and it is stratagem 
that counts in war. He was too hasty, and charged 
right into the Indians as soon as he came in sight of 'em. 
It was his intention to massacree 'em, but instead of 
that he massacreed his own men." 

The records hardly bear out the fairness of these im- 
pressions. Custer's orders were not of a hard and fast 
sort, and they left nearly everything to his discretion. 
His fatal mistake was in underestimating the strength 
of the enemy; but this error was one he shared in com- 
mon with all the other commanders in the expedition. 
The war originated in the demand that certain wild 
bands of the Sioux should settle down on the reserva- 
tions under the control of the Indian Agent. It was not 
supposed that these wanderers could muster more than 
seven hundred warriors, and yet Custer encountered 
about four times that number, including boys who were 
armed with bows and arrows. 



Custer's Last Battlefield 237 

The campaign opened in March when General 
Crook's command was so severely handled that he felt 
obliged to retreat. This gave the Indians confidence, 
and great numbers slipped away from the agencies to 
join the hostiles. With the beginning of summer the 
troops were again in motion, and Custer, whose com- 
mand consisted of six hundred men, presently got on 
the trail of the enemy. It was his business to punish 
and bring them to terms, and he knew very well that the 
Indians have no fondness for pitched battles. Even 
with the odds in their favor they prefer to scatter and 
run away. The only chance for the troops to efi^ectively 
chastise them was to catch them unawares and strike 
quick and hard. 

On the morning of the battle the approach of the 
soldiers was betrayed by the cloud of dust they raised, 
for the weather was very dry; and as soon as Custer 
knew that he was discovered he had his men move for- 
ward with haste. They were then on the banks of the 
Little Bighorn, and a portion of the command, under 
Major Reno, crossed to the north side to go on up the 
valley and engage the Indians, while Custer with the 
rest, numbering about two hundred and fifty, kept to 
the south side to fall on the enemy from a different direc- 
tion. It was then nearly noon. Reno had not gone far 
when he was brought to a halt by the foe, who assailed 
him with such energy that in a good deal of confusion 



23B Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

he retreated and soon found himself besieged on one 
of the hilltops. 

With the first knowledge that the Indians had of the 
approach of the troops they began preparations to break 
camp and fly; but when Reno was driven back they 
took courage and decided to delay their flight until the 
urgency became greater. The entire fighting force then 
concentrated their attention on Custer, leaving Reno 
for the time being almost unmolested. Possibly, had he 
gone to his superior's aid, the fate of the day might have 
been changed, but he seems to have been too shaken by 
what had already occurred to make the attempt. 

Custer had moved along the ridges south of the stream 
for several miles before the Indians attacked him, and 
he was not backward about striking in return. His 
opponents, in order to hide their own movements and 
drive out the troops, set fire to the grass. This helped 
develop a confusion that soon put the whites on the 
defensive. They were in two or three difi^erent detach- 
ments, and the enemy seems to have dealt with these 
separately. The Indians would advance under cover 
of the slopes far enough so that when they stood erect 
they could see the troops, but were protected when 
squatting or lying down. By rising and firing quickly 
they exposed themselves only an instant; but this served 
to draw the fire of the soldiers and make them waste 
their ammunition. After a time they would give a war- 




05 



>-^ 



^ 



Custer's Last Battlefield 239 

whoop and charge. The fight was not long drawn out. 
Its duration was only a few hours at most, and it came 
to an end with the death of Custer who, fighting to the 
last moment, had survived all his comrades. 

The Indians, jubilant with victory, yelled and revelled 
on the battlefield, scalping and plundering the dead 
soldiers; and the young men and boys rode about firing 
into the bodies. When darkness came they lighted 
bonfires in their encampments, and though naturally 
economical of fuel, they did not stint it this time, and 
the surrounding hills were brightly illumined. All night 
long they were engaged in frantic rejoicing, beating 
drums, dancing, yelling, and discharging firearms. 
The next day they attempted again to overwhelm Reno, 
but he had rudely fortified himself and gotten a supply 
of water, and he successfully resisted the fierce attacks. 
Then, fearing the approach of another detachment of 
troops, the entire body of Indians withdrew into the 
wilderness. 

The Crow Indians who dwell in the vicinity did not 
join forces with the hostiles. In fact, some of them were 
scouting for Custer. At the Crow Agency village the 
inhabitants are mostly whites who are government and 
railroad employees, but the red men are always much 
in evidence, coming and going. I found it rather a 
charming hamlet, and even suggestive in a mild way of 
an historic university town; for a number of good-sized 



240 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

school buildings fronted on a grassy common of ample 
area, and avenues of great trees arched the walks and 
streets and grew in clumps about the buildings. So 
there was pleasant shade, and a dreamy atmosphere of 
serenity and refinement. 

Among the other structures was a two-story wooden 
hotel, very like any country hostelry, except that the 
office had its walls papered with pictures, most of them 
colored, and having as a rule Indian scenes for their 
subjects. Especially conspicuous in this art collection 
were two oil paintings done on tin that had served 
formerly as receptacles for kerosene. They were about 
three feet square, and had ponderous, gaudy frames. 
One painting was of an Indian chief labelled, "Little 
Dog," and the other of "Bronco Jim," a wild, bewhisk- 
ered plainsman with his teeth showing, and a knife 
raised ominously in his right hand. The two pictures 
were really fascinating in their crude, raw ghastliness; 
and it seemed perfectly evident that some aspiring sav- 
age had painted them. But the landlord said: "No, 
they were done by an old priest. After he was over 
eighty and about ready to die he concluded he'd missed 
his calling and started in to be an artist. So he got some 
house paint in different colors, and flattened out some 
old tin cans to serve instead of canvas and went at it. 
You may think these are pictures of real people, but 
they're ideals, names and all." 



Custer's Last Battlefield 241 

The Indian children are gathered in at the school 
when they are seven years of age, and there they live. 
It is usual to keep the girls till they are eighteen, unless 
they leave to marry, and the boys stay till they are 
twenty-one. The education is largely industrial, and 
an attempt is made to give the students civilized habits 
of home life both indoors and out. For the girls there 
is cooking, washing, sewing, sweeping, etc., and for the 
boys work in the barns and gardens and fields. The 
boys have a keen liking for athletics, and their baseball 
club nearly always wins in the match games with the 
whites. 

Outside of the village the long sweep of fertile, irri- 
gated valley looks quite attractive, and the many herds 
of horses and cattle on the hills seem to attest the pros- 
perity of the Indian owners. But if you question the 
white men who live in the neighborhood concerning 
this apparent thrift they say: "Only about one out of 
every fifty raises a crop or works, and even these few, 
as soon as the results of their labor come to them in the 
shape of money, usually blow it in. No matter how 
large the sum is it only lasts them as long as it takes to 
spend it, and they spend it dog-goned quick. They're 
great hands to buy buggies to drive around in. One 
feller went and bought three after selling a lot of hay 
he'd raised. He had no more use for three buggies than 
a man has for six legs. Two of 'em he gave away, and 



242 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

in a few weeks he was wanting to sell the other for forty 
dollars though it had cost him over a hundred. 

"Of course there are exceptions to the rule. Some 
are buying good teams and farming implements and a 
bunch of cattle and getting down to business. They all 
take pride in their horses, and they have some blame 
good ones, and as nice rigs as any owned in Wall Street. 
But in most ways they are lazy and have no judgment, 
and their financiering is shortsighted and childish. 
Very few of 'em are downright honest and square. 
Instead, they're quite irresponsible and never pay a debt 
if they can avoid it. You let them have goods on credit 
and they'll go to the limit in buying every time, and then 
want more rope. 

"Perhaps the chief trouble is that they've been raised 
to another style of living. You really couldn't expect 
'em to be models of industry. They used to be a war- 
ring, buffalo-hunting tribe. There were millions of 
buffaloes in this region, and it was hunt and pleasure 
for the Indians all the way through. But the govern- 
ment got into a row with the Sioux, who became so bad 
it was necessary to starve 'em into submission by clear- 
ing out the buffaloes. Then the Crows saw hard times, 
and the government made paupers of 'em by issuing 
rations to the whole tribe, old and young. All an In- 
dian had to do was to sit down and say he was hungry 
to have his food passed out to him. 




A ivdtcrstde footpath 



Custer's Last Battlefield 243 

"The present agent has been trying to set 'em on 
their feet and show 'em how to take care of themselves. 
It was his idea that a man didn't deserve food if he 
wouldn't work, and he cut off the rations from the able- 
bodied intending to let 'em rustle. But rations were 
still given to the old people, and the young bucks flocked 
around to help eat them. So the issuing of food was 
stopped entirely. 

"The government controls considerable money that 
belongs to the Indians, and they're all the time at the 
agent to get hold of it. A person requesting money who 
has a foolish plan for spending it is given some good 
advice, and goes away empty-handed. An Indian is 
not very demonstrative. If the advice suits him he looks 
very solemn and shakes hands. If he's mad he looks 
very solemn and walks off" without any hand-shaking. 
Some of the young fellows raise a great row when the 
agent withholds their money, and to keep the peace he 
turns it over to them, lets 'em fool it away and suff"er 
the consequences. To allow the old people to squander 
their property that way is a more serious matter. As 
long as they have a little income their relatives will take 
care of 'em; but with their capital in their own hands 
they're soon paupers. Then none of the tribe wants 
them around and they lead a hard life. 

"Most of the men have adopted the garments of the 
whites, but the old fellows still cling to their blankets. 



244 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

The women dress practically as they always have, ex- 
cept that they use calico instead of buckskin, and sub- 
stitute a white sheet in summer for the blanket they 
ordinarily wear. The finest feminine garment is a dress 
ornamented with elk teeth, or shells. Such a dress is 
handed down as a family heirloom and is only worn by 
recent brides and young girls. It is often worth a good 
team. 

"Some of the Indians have pretty nice places, but 
the habits of the inmates of even the better homes are 
apt to have a flavor of the barbaric. The girls will go 
right home from the school and fry dough and boil meat 
just as their mothers have in the past. You seldom 
find anything but ordinary squaw-cooking. Then, too, 
they get tired of living in a house. Perhaps it becomes 
too dirty, and the family prefers to move out rather than 
to clean it. So they transfer themselves to a tent. That 
has advantages over a house, for when the dirt gets too 
offensive they can shift the tent to a new spot. It's too 
bad, but the tents are knocking out the old picturesque 
tepees, because they are so much cheaper, and are 
easier handled. 

"The health of the Indians is poor. Tuberculosis 
is the disease that is carrying ofi^ most of them. They 
are very susceptible to it. For one thing, they don't use 
any judgment about ventilation. A tepee would ven- 
tilate itself. Every time the flap at the entrance was 



Custer's Last Battlefield 245 

thrown up there'd be a change of air. It's different 
with a house, or even with a modern tent; for they have 
a campstove in the tent and sit around it and sweat, but 
keep the fire going just the same. They don't like to go 
to a doctor when they're sick. The mummery of their 
own medicine men suits them better. We tried recently 
to send a physician to a fellow who'd broken his arm, 
but he hid out, and that arm will be crooked for the 
rest of his days. 

"They're very fond of dogs. A few weeks ago they 
had a camp down the river a mile or two, and there were 
seventy tepees and a thousand dogs. Some tribes like 
dog meat to eat, but not these fellows, and the dogs 
multiply past endurance. We had a poisoning bee here 
one time. The Indians were goin ' to get together for a 
dance, and of course the dogs would all come; so we 
decided to see what poison would do. We got a quarter 
of beef the day before the dance, cut it up, fixed it well 
with strychnine, and then took it in a rig and drove over 
the road throwing the pieces out to the sides as we went 
along. The next day there were dead dogs scattered 
the entire distance. They were worthless curs, you 
know, and if we didn't do something like that the whole 
darn country would be overrun with 'em. The owners 
never kill any, and if a dog goes mad it bites other dogs 
and ponies and stock, and we have a dickins of a time." 

A dance such as my informant referred to occurs 
every two or three months, and the Indians gather to it 



246 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

from twenty miles up and down the valley and continue 
their pow-wow for several days. One of these was in 
progress, about six miles north of the town, at the time 
of my visit. The crops were all started, there was no 
pressure of work, and it was a favorable time to get 
together a crowd. Usually a man not only came him- 
self but brought all his family, riding in a stout farm 
wagon that was laden with food and bedding and a tent 
or tepee. As if by magic a village sprang into being in 
a glen that opened back into the hills from the main 
valley. It was a crowded hamlet of white canvas with 
many vehicles standing about, and a throng of Indians 
enlivening the vicinity. On the afternoon that I joined 
the gathering occasional members of the tribe lay dozing 
in convenient patches of shade, others squatted in 
groups to chat, still others sat looking down on the scene 
from points of vantage on the steep hillslopes, and some 
were going to a near stream for water or to let their 
horses drink. There was much cantering to and fro 
on the valley road and through the village and over the 
surrounding hills. Often the riders were little girls and 
little boys; yet they would gallop about perfectly fear- 
less with as wild an ardor as any of their elders. I 
marvelled that they were able to stay on, but as a local 
dweller explained: "They start in to ride almost before 
they can walk. The men tie 'em on and then turn 'em 
loose. 



-~] 




A dancer and a youthful admirer 



Custer's Last Battlefield 247 

In the midst of the encampment on a grassy level 
was one tent far larger than any of the others. This 
was reserved for the dancing, and now and then a brave 
daubed with paint and arrayed with much savage finery 
of beads and feathers stood forth near it and shouted a 
weird high-voiced summons to the merry-making. The 
painted warriors became increasingly numerous, and in 
the case of some of them the paint and decorations were 
about all they wore. Presently the dance began, but 
many of the tribe continued to loiter about the camp or 
to canter hither and thither on their ponies. As to the 
spectators, they could go inside of the big tent or peer 
through the crevices as they preferred. I found the 
performance quite fascinating, and the music, though a 
kind of monotonous chant accompanied by the pound- 
ing of drums, was wildly exhilarating. Those concerned 
entered into the activities with vigor and heartfelt en- 
joyment, and their delight was contagious. The danc- 
ing consisted either of marching, or of standing in 
formal groups and keeping up an odd jerking motion 
by bending the knees slightly and then straightening up. 
Both men and squaws took part in the dancing, and 
they were reinforced by some of the smaller children 
who sang and jigged and paraded with all the fervor 
of their elders. Once a band of men marched out of 
the tent and went a few rods up the slope, where they 
stood and bobbed up and down with nodding feathers 
and chanted vociferously. They made an imposingly 



248 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

picturesque group, and yet the individual warriors were 
often simply frightful in their unearthly grotesqueness. 
The Indians' enjoyment of the occasion was evident, and 
I was not surprised to learn that they take better care 
of their war bonnets and other ornaments displayed at 
the dances than of anything else they own! 

Three or four white people were present to witness 
the ceremonies, and among them was an old farmer 
from the next town up the valley. He left at the same 
time I did, and we stopped for a chat on the outskirts 
of the camp. After some preliminaries he became 
reminiscent and said: "I was raised up a little bit like 
old Abe Lincoln was. My folks was poor white trash 
in the Tennessee Mountains. A fellow didn't have 
much chance in that region. I cut twelve cords of wood 
at twenty-five cents a cord to pay for my first pair of 
cowhide boots, and I've swung a scythe many a time 
for fifty cents a day. After the war I went to Kansas 
poorer'n Job's turkey — hadn't a thing on earth — and 
picked up odd jobs where I could. I've grubbed all 
day there for a bushel of potatoes. I had to do that or 
starve. But pretty soon I got hold of a nice farm, and 
that country just suited me except for the fever and 
ague. Finally, I concluded I couldn't stand it in the 
Kansas river bottoms and I come to Wyoming and 
bought up an old sagebrush desert. Any man that got 
into the Wild West twenty-five or thirty years ago had 
to do some hard scratchin' to make a living; but we 



Custer's Last Battlefield 249 

prospered, and pretty soon I had a nice ranch. My 
daughter too got to have a place of her own by filing 
a homestead claim. She's a worker — good to tend a 
garden and to do lots of other things around the farm. 
Lately we sold out and come and drawed some of the 
new land they're opening up in this valley. If only the 
irrigation ditch had been finished in time I could have 
growed forty bushel of spring wheat to the acre on my 
land this year like a top. I don't like the cold northwest 
winds they have in this part of the world, and I'm not 
satisfied with the kind of home we've got. I'll tell you 
for why — the region is open and bleak and a house looks 
lonesome without trees. But I've putt in some cotton- 
woods to break the wind, and in ten years' time we'll 
have as snug a place as anybody could want. Yes, the 
part of this valley where the whites are is going to be 
fine. I don't know about the Indians. Whether they 
can settle down to drudging on a farm and make a 
success of it is a question." 

Note. — To visit the scene of any famous event that the world has 
recognized as exceptionally important or tragic is always a satisfac- 
tion, and the Custer battlefield for this reason should draw to it many 
a traveller from a distance. It is easily accessible, and though having 
in itself no scenic beauty, its very dreariness adds to the sombre attrac- 
tion of the spot. As an offset to the barren aspect of the battlefield, 
there is near by the charming Crow Agency village, and the region 
abounds with Indians making a struggle to adopt the ways of civiliza- 
tion, yet not at present succeeding well enough to entirely lose their 
picturesque interest. Of course, if the visitor can happen to be on 
hand at the time of one of their frequent dances he has the chance to 
see the savage in all his glory; and the spectacle has a wild impressive- 
ness quite unforgetable. 



XIV 

AMONG THE BLACK HILLS 

THE Black Hills are an outlying group of the 
Rockies, so far removed from the main series of 
ridges as to be almost unrelated. Roundabout 
them for hundreds of miles the country is a monotony 
of low hills and plains which offers a striking contrast 
to this medley of craggy uplifts and irregular valleys. 
Harney Peak, the monarch of the Black Hills group 
reaches an elevation of over seven thousand feet, but 
the immediate vicinity is itself so high that neither 
Harney nor any of the other mountains are especially 
impressive. On the slopes and heights grow dark 
forests of pine, and in the vales is pasturage and many 
a sunny well-watered glade where are occasional small 
cultivated fields and rude farmhouses. 

One advantage the Black Hills inhabitants claim to 
have over the dwellers on the plains is that their region 
is immune from tornadoes. "Since I've been here," 
said one old resident, "we've never had enough of a gale 
to take the shingles off a woodshed." 

But I was informed that in some of the outlying foot- 
hill hamlets the wind at times blew so that the people 
"could hardly keep the buttons on their clothes." 




Ptinning for go/J 



Among the Black Hills 251 

Considerable mellow soil has gathered in the valley 
pockets, yet rocks are for the most part omnipresent, 
often thrusting up great ragged ridges to a height of 
hundreds of feet. Mica is plentiful in the rocks, and 
the soil is full of glittering particles that have a very 
pretty sheen and sparkle in the sunshine. Then, too, 
you see many scattered fragments of quartz as clear as 
crystal, and though the quartz and the pulverized mica 
have no value they attract and please the eye, and are 
suggestive of hidden wealth. 

The discovery of gold in the Black Hills is usually 
attributed to a government exploring expedition which 
spent the summer of 1874 in the region; but even at 
that time there were a good many miners roaming 
around prospecting, entirely independent of the troops. 
The miners found gold, and so did the soldiers, and 
both told stories of wealth to be found in the Hills that 
created great interest throughout the country and at 
once gave the group of wild mountains world-wide 
fame. 

For a number of years the floating population of the 
frontier had been suffering from a dearth of exciting 
mineral discoveries, and they promptly made ready to 
rush in. Numerous other fortune-seekers were attracted 
from the older Eastern states. The fact that they would 
be trespassers on the choicest hunting-ground belong- 
ing to the Sioux Indians was no serious deterrent. Men 
have always been ready to risk their lives for gold; and 



1.^2 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

the rightsof Indians do not usually count for much with 
the whites. The government, however, had included 
the Black Hills in the Sioux reservation, and, to avoid 
trouble, the authorities at Washington endeavored to 
keep the miners out. They soon realized the hopeless- 
ness of the attempt, if the Hills were rich in gold, and 
started negotiations to buy the tract from its owners. 
This they succeeded in doing in 1876, but fortune- 
seekers were numerous in the Hills long before the trans- 
fer was made. 

" People went crazy about gold," one old-timer said 
to me; "and though the soldiers took a good many 
men out of the reservation the population was increas- 
ing right along. Men who were used to mining and to 
rough frontier life couldn't have been driven away with 
a club. They were bound to keep on gold-hunting in 
spite of everything. I know an old man who's a fair 
sample of what those fellows were then. All the soldiers 
in the United States couldn't keep him away from a 
mining camp. In his day he made quite a lot of money; 
but it has all slipped away from him. Still he sticks to 
mining, and he's out in the mountains prospecting now. 
He hunts around and picks up stones that look promis- 
ing, pounds 'em up in a mortar and pans out the stuff 
to see if there's gold in it. He's all alone, and some day 
he'll be found dead in his little shack. 

"My pardner and me come here in the spring of '75. 
The soldiers didn't ketch us, and we was in the town of 



Among the Black Hills 253 

Custer when the big strike of gold was made early the 
next year in Deadwood. It was toward the end of 
winter, and there was still snow on the ground, but 
everybody who could leave started off for the new dig- 
gings. We'd thought Custer was going to be the big 
town of the Black Hills; and yet almost in a night it 
was depopulated. There were fourteen hundred build- 
ings in the place, and only fourteen persons remained 
in town; so there were a hundred buildings to each 
person. 

"It's funny how people will hustle off that way. 
They are just like a lot of cattle stampeded in a storm — 
each going with the crowd in a mad rush and not seeing 
or thinking. A feller will tell about a prospect that he 
thinks is going to be a money-maker. The next man 
who tells the story enlarges on it a little, and by the 
time it's passed through half a dozen hands everybody 
goes wild. Off they start for the new camp; but even 
if no one makes a cent there's not a man among 'em 
who isn't happy until he's broke. 

"I didn't make any lucky gold strikes myself and 
presently I tried work of another sort. In the spring of 
'77 I carted hay forty or fifty miles from the borders of 
the Hills to Deadwood. I had eight oxen and carried 
about two tons to a load. The hay cost me thirty dollars 
a ton, and I sold it for fourteen cents a pound. Supplies 
of all sorts were scarce here in those days, and the stock 
in Deadwood really suffered for food. I wasn't long in 



254 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

disposing of what I brought. I'd stop in the middle of 
the street, and men would crowd around the load like 
a swarm of bees, and hold up their money to buy. The 
hay was tied up with light rope into bundles that sold for 
a hundred pounds, but which didn't weigh much over 
seventy-five. As soon as my cart was emptied I'd turn 
around and come back to where there was prairie and 
a chance for the oxen to graze. I couldn't have afforded 
to feed them in Deadwood. 

"I was out and around alone a good deal; and yet 
with all the travelling I did I never saw any Indians. 
I didn't want to see any. They weren't friendly toward 
the whites, and I was always more or less anxious 
about 'em. So were the other people who came into 
the region. But I was more afraid of lawless white 
men. They'd dress up in imitation of the savages- 
paint themselves and put on blankets and fasten a 
horsetail on the back of their heads to look like long 
Indian hair. Then they'd rob the stage and the poor 
tenderfoot who was coming in with money. Lots of 
misdeeds were laid to the Indians where they weren't 
to blame at all. What the outlaws liked best was to 
hold up the coaches when they heard that bullion was 
going to be shipped out; but now and then the owners 
of the bullion would fool the robbers by filling the bags 
with sand. 

"The nearest I came to running afoul of Indians was 
one morning on my way to Deadwood with a load of 




Bf going to go pshing 



Among the Black Hills 255 

hay. I came to a spot where a party of whites had 
camped the night before, and found a woman dead 
beside the road. It was a pretty bad place for Indians — 
handy for game and water, and just the spot they'd 
naturally pick out for a camp. They had turned 
loose on the whites at about daylight, and of co'se the 
whites skipped out. They didn't know what they was 
doing — this outfit didn't. All but one woman escaped 
up a hill. The horses was so scared they stampeded, 
and the Indians couldn't get them; and there was no 
chance to steal from the wagons because the whites were 
all the time shooting. In a little while the Indians left. 
Pretty soon afterward I happened along, and there lay 
the dead woman, and the rest of the company was 
hollering on the bluff. 

"No one was safe from the Indians in the first year 
or two. They would crawl up the high hills and shoot 
at the men working in the gulches below, and the miners 
used to keep their guns handy, and they provided de- 
fences for emergencies. 

"The last Indian rising was in 1892. One of the old 
heads went into a trance. He said the Messiah appeared 
to him and ordered the Indians to drive out the whites, 
and promised that the deer and buffalo would return 
so the Indians would have their happy hunting-ground 
to themselves again. They began to massacree the 
whites; but the troops soon put a stop to that sort of 
thing. The savages might have made more of a fight 



256 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

if they hadn't been so afraid of cannon. Let 'em hear 
the discharge of a cannon, and they think the world is 
coming to an end. With just one cannon you can scare 
a whole tribe. Often you don't even need to fire it; to 
show it on a knoll is sufficient." 

The man whose comments I have reported was a 
citizen of Custer where I spent some time rambling 
about the region. The town has never recovered from 
the famous exodus that depopulated it in its youth, and 
is merely a village in a glade of the rocky uplands. As 
a matter of fact the only really notable mine in the 
Black Hills is the "Homestake" near Deadwood. This 
employs nearly two thousand men under ground and 
is one of the richest gold mines in America. The first 
prospectors looked around the neighborhood late in 
1874, and other parties came drifting in the next year; 
but there was no special excitement till a twelve-month 
later. Deadwood Gulch, where gold was first found in 
quantity, was then covered with a dense growth of pine, 
much of it dead and mingled with a nearly impassable 
tangle of underbrush. 

The biggest strike was made by a man named Wheeler. 
He is said to have cleaned up over one hundred thou- 
sand dollars, and then to have asked and obtained an 
escort of soldiers to see him safely across the wilderness 
to the nearest railway station, two hundred miles dis- 
tant. What became of him and his fortune afterward 
no one could tell me. If he went away satisfied with 



Among the Black Hills 257 

the wealth he had accumulated he was a very excep- 
tional miner. Usually the lucky ones embarked on new 
ventures and lost their earlier gains. The chances were 
always fascinating, but where one made money, thou- 
sands of other adventurers made nothing at all. Per- 
haps the commonest source of profit to those who dis- 
covered "a prospect" was to sell it to moneyed Eastern 
men. The purchasers, as a rule, not only put their 
money in the ground but left it there. 

During the spring and summer of 1876, each day, 
and almost each hour, witnessed the arrival of new 
parties of gold seekers in Deadwood Gulch. Whoever 
could saw a board or drive a nail commanded his own 
price, and in a short time the place grew from a few log 
cabins to a city of seven thousand inhabitants. The 
hotels v/ere so crowded it was considered a luxury to 
occupy a chair in the office during the night. Every- 
thing was extremely expensive. Bread went as high as 
a dollar a loaf, and people were glad to get it at that 
price. One man with whom I talked declared that the 
high cost of living was a result of modern trust methods 
among the merchants. 

"They were pretty smart," said he, "and were care- 
ful not to let too many supplies come in at a time to 
lower the price. If they had a load of flour on the way 
they'd drive out with a buggy and meet it and have it 
stop or come slower. They'd carry back just a few 
sacks and say the team was delayed by bad roads. 



258 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

"But no one minded those Httle tricks then. Every- 
body come in with plenty of money, and they expected 
to be able to get plenty more when that was gone. A 
good many of the gold-seekers was fetched in by Joe 
Vollin, who had a freighting outfit going back and 
forth between the Black Hills and the Missouri. He 
charged 'em twenty-five dollars a head, and they had to 
walk all the way. But they were allowed to put their 
little baggage — a couple of blankets and a satchel — on 
the wagon. If the wagon got stuck in the mud, a rope 
would be hitched to the end of the tongue, and the 
tenderfeet would get hold and help pull the thing out on 
firmer ground. You take seventy-five or a hundred 
men and they can pull a dickins of a load. They worked 
their way and paid their fare, too; but they thought 
that was all right. They'd never been in a wild country 
before, so it was easy for Vollin to scare 'em with his 
Indian stories, and they had no hankering to go ahead 
by themselves. 

"Often they didn't know what to do when they got 
here. They'd thought the gold would be lying around 
right on the surface of the ground. It was their idea 
they could walk along the cricks and pick up the gold 
in lumps. When they found they'd have to work for it, 
and that there was nothing to be seen but dirt and rocks 
and wild woodland many a feller got sick of the proposi- 
tion about the second day and was ready to pay Vollin 




On a Black Hills roadivav 



Among the Black Hills 259 

another twenty-five dollars to be allowed to walk back to 
civilization alongside of one of the freighting wagons." 
The placer mines of Deadwood Gulch and the tribu- 
tary ravines were for a short time very remunerative, 
and the town that grew up there was the metropolis of 
the Black Hills. Thither the miners from all the region 
around wended their way every Saturday night with 
their weekly accumulation of gold dust and nuggets. 
Gold in these forms was the commonest kind of currency 
in the Hills, and everyone carried a bottle or sack of it 
for use in place of money. On arriving in Deadwood at 
the week-end the average miner proceeded to spend his 
golden wealth like a nabob; and on Monday morning, 
with a fresh supply of "grub" thrown over his shoulder 
he returned to his claim to delve for more of the precious 
metal. No doubt he was cheered at his rough labor by 
the certainty of having another "good time" the next 
Sunday. That was the busiest and noisiest day of the 
week in Deadwood. The streets were crowded both 
with buckskin-clothed mountaineers, and with recent 
arrivals from the East. You heard the blows of ham- 
mers and the rasping of saws where buildings were 
being erected. Here a gambler was crying his game, 
and there a street preacher was exhorting sinners to 
repent. 

As to preachers, one finds very little veneration for 
them among the mining folk — at least in fair weather. 
"We never was much for going to church," remarked 



26o Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

a pioneer of the region. "You can't make no money 
that way, and a miner has something else to do besides 
attending to rehgion. It's curious, but it's a fact, that 
when a preacher wanted to build a church or anything 
of that sort he was sure to get most of the money off the 
gamblers and liquor sellers. Naturally they can't collect 
much from their religious church members, because a 
man that prays all the time can't be expected to earn or 
have much money. Such men perhaps give ten cents or 
a quarter apiece, while from each saloon the minister 
will get ten or twenty dollars. Then he'll give the liquor 
sellers thunder in church the next Sunday. Religion 
is only society — I call it. You take away the social 
attraction, and you'd have nothing left. In fact, there 
are not many people in the world who believe very 
seriously in religion unless they're weak in the mind. 
Still, it's good enough for young people and puts a kind 
of fear in 'em they never forget. But you can't put much 
fear into an old man like me. I'm glad though to have 
my children attend church. It keeps 'em down a little. 
They'll learn fast enough." 

The only local clergyman who seems to have gained 
a permanent place in the hearts of the mining folk is one 
who was killed by the Indians while on his way to a 
neighboring village where he was to preach. He knew 
the danger, and yet duty called and he took the risk. 
This heroism and the tragic result brought him what no 
amount of exhortation would have gained, and he is one 



Among the Black Hills 261 

of the Black Hills saints. High on the terrace of a bluff 
above the town is the cemetery overlooking the narrow 
glen, and there the martyr preacher is honored with a 
full-length brown-stone statue which has an inclosing 
coop of chicken-wire fencing to protect it from the af- 
fection of those who would like to chip off mementoes. 
A still more popular hero, similarly memorialized, 
was "Wild Bill." While on a visit to the region to see 
what the country was like he was shot dead as he was 
playing in one of the gambling places. So far as I could 
learn he was of the ordinary type of frontiersman — not 
a desperado as his name and manner of death might 
suggest — but with the usual frontier virtues and fail- 
ings. He had been a scout in the Civil War and had 
served in a like capacity on the plains. There was no 
fear in his make-up, but he well knew that he had en- 
emies, and he took the precaution, whenever he sat 
down indoors, to place himself with his back to the wall. 
But this did not save him from a violent end. 

A marble bust on a pedestal formerly marked his 
grave in the cemetery, but the relic hunters did some 
busting on their own account after the sculptor finished, 
and soon the monument was ruined. Then fresh con- 
tributions were levied, and now the visitor to the ceme- 
tery sees a full-length brown-stone figure of a bare- 
headed, long-haired plainsman, standing in a wire coop 
like that which protects the martyr preacher. In one 
hand the effigy holds a pistol and is about to draw 



262 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

another from his cartridge belt. It is a rather belliger- 
ent looking figure for that silent city of the dead, and its 
grotesqueness has been made the more emphatic by 
painting the pupils of the eyes blue. 

Another contemporary notable was "Calamity Jane." 
This name appears to have been her chief stock in trade, 
and about the only reason for her being remembered. 
She was shiftless and vicious^an idling dare-devil who 
was in her glory when she dressed up partly in man's 
clothes and partly in woman's and walked around the 
the streets to be greeted as "Calamity Jane." No 
monument marks her resting-place — possibly because 
there was nothing startling about the manner of her 
death. 

In the turmoil of the first year or two of the gold 
excitement Deadwood was a rough town. It was full 
of gamblers, and shooting was a common pastime. 
But this period soon passed, and the place became as 
orderly and well-governed as most of its sort. That 
does not mean it was ideal; for drinkers, gamblers, and 
other purveyors or indulgers in dissipation are allowed 
to do much more as they please in mining towns than 
in the average community. 

By reason of its situation the town is particularly 
piquant and interesting, and it has a pleasing air of 
stability and comfort. The homes cling along the 
declivities of the deep gulch, and creep far up every side 
ravine. Some of the streets with their attendant board 




A liui/k with crrandmother 



Among the Black Hills 263 

sidewalks are marvels of steepness; and the houses are 
arranged in terraces, each row looking down on the 
roofs of those below. In the depths of the hollow are 
the railroads and a swift muddy creek, business blocks, 
mines, shops and other buildings, all jumbled together 
and entirely lacking elbow-room. Roundabout rise 
the lofty wooded ridges with here and there a perpen- 
dicular crag, or a hilltop crowned with monumental 
ledges and heaps of boulders. It seems a fitting place 
for Nature to have exercised her magic in making the 
gold which has directly or indirectly been the means of 
drawing most of the population to this rugged region. 

Note. — The Black Hills cover a stretch of country about one hun- 
dred miles in length by fifty in width. They rise abruptly from the 
surface of a level prairie country and reach altitudes varying from three 
thousand to seven thousand feet. It is evident that with their streams 
and crags and pine-clad slopes they must contain not a little scenery 
that is ruggedly attractive. There are many picturesque villages in 
the valleys, and a leisurely traveller who likes rambling on foot or 
riding on horseback finds much to enjoy. The town that is most 
strikingly interesting in its setting, and in its romantic history, is Dead- 
wood. Several other places that have considerable attraction, either 
commercial or scenic, are near at hand, and among these is the city of 
Lead, where is located the great Homestake Mine. 



XV 

A DAKOTA PARADISE 

IT was known in local parlance as the "Jim" River 
Valley, and its metropolis was called "Jimtown;" 
but on the map you found the James River and 
Jamestown. The fertility and productiveness of the re- 
gion are superlative. Aside from this, however, neither 
the river nor the valley can lay any great claim to beauty. 
The Jim is a sluggish stream that wanders placidly 
through the alluvial and often marshy lowlands and never 
cuts up any wild pranks by flooding and tearing to pieces 
the land along its borders. On one side or the other, 
sometimes on both, mild, grassy bluff^s rise to a higher 
level where the country sweeps away in an apparently 
limitless prairie, dotted with groups of farm buildings 
and criss-crossed with roads and wire fences. Trees 
are rare except for plantings around the homes, and 
these plantings are still for the most part of slender 
growth. At the coming of the first settlers the upland 
was perfectly clear prairie, and even along the river 
"not a stick" grew for scores of miles. But now nearly 
every farmer has started a grove of cottonwoods and 
other quick-growing trees to ameliorate the barrenness 



A Dakota Paradise 265 

of the home surroundings, break the wind, and furnish 
a Httle firewood. 

"This is a great country for winds," one man ex- 
plained to me as I chatted with him in the dooryard 
adjoining his home, in the southern part of the state. 
"Why, I built a heavy hay rack on my wagon one morn- 
ing, and before night that rack lay on the ground and 
the wagon was on top of it. The same wind tipped a 
passenger train off the track within three miles of here. 
But it wa'n't no twister. It was right down straight- 
away business. We don't have cyclones. Of course 
the clouds come rolling up pretty threatening some- 
times, and my wife will perhaps go down cellar, but I 
don't think that is necessary. 

"We've been having good seasons right along lately, 
and everything is prosperous and the people happy. 
But it was different in the early days. There was a 
kind of a craze then over the Jim River Valley, and my 
people come rushing in with a good many others from 
Illinois about 1880. They went over plenty of country 
just as good long before they got here. But they were 
just like a herd of cattle that had broken into a corn- 
field — sure not to stop till they'd got to the farther side 
of it. The first year that we lived here the weather 
was so dry we couldn't raise a thing. Hundreds of acres 
of wheat never sprouted at all, and the ground con- 
tinued as bare as my kitchen floor. You couldn't de- 
pend on anything in those times; but now that the 



266 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

country is broken up and more or less trees growing we 
seem to have a different cHmate. The first settlers 
thought they'd been terribly fooled. However, the 
disappointment was partly their own fault. The men 
who came in here then were mostly clerks from stores 
and cashiers of banks and that sort of fellows. They 
expected they could get rich off of wheat easy, and they 
were goin' back East as soon as they'd made their for- 
tunes. Wheat was the only thing they planted, and 
when that failed there was nothing else for 'em to fall 
back on. They didn't have hardly any cattle, and not 
even hens. Butter and eggs were shipped into the 
valley from a distance, and the settlers went to town 
and bought 'em. That's no way to farm. 

"A good many, after a bad season or two, saw what 
sort of a boat they were in, and picked up their things 
and left. But some couldn't get out. They were so 
poor they had to stay. The walking was all right, but 
they didn't feel like walking so far. A quarter section 
as good as you'd want to squat on could be bought for 
three hundred dollars. And yet, at that time I wouldn't 
have taken a quarter section as a gift if I'd got to pay 
the taxes on it. 

"I own quite a herd of cattle, and I depend on them 
to tide me over if we have a bad crop year. There's 
thirty acres in my chunk of pasture. Buffalo grass is 
the chief forage there. It is a curly grass that sprawls 
over the ground and never grows very high; but the 



1^ 




Beside the strear 



A Dakota Paradise 267 

cattle like it, and even after it dries up the goodness 
seems to be retained, and they will live on it all winter. 
For hay we depend a good deal on the wild red top that 
grows on the bottoms. I've seen it waist high and so 
heavy that the rains would lodge it down. When fall 
comes, if a man wants more hay for the winter than he 
has secured already, he goes out and mows on the prairie. 
The grass there is then perfectly dry, just as it stands, 
and can be put in stacks as soon as it is cut." 

"Isn't your land suited to alfalfa ?" I asked. 

"Oh, yes," he replied, "we can raise alfalfa till the 
cows come home; but at present there's very little 
tame grass of any kind grown here. Wheat is still the 
principal crop, and it doesn't seem to exhaust our soil 
as it does in most regions. We are getting good wheat 
yet from fields that have been sown to that same crop 
for thirty years. But our farming is going to be more 
diversified in the future. Dairying will be one of our 
important industries, and we'll make all kinds of money 
at it. Yes, the milk business is bound to be a cracker- 
jack here. There's no inspection, and the price in town 
is seven cents a quart in summer and eight in winter. 
The time will come, too, when we will fertilize more. 
Now we generally burn our straw stacks to get rid of 
them; and the barnyard and stable refuse we dump 
into some convenient hollow. We wouldn't trouble to 
cart it off from around our buildings only it's in the way. 
But I've noticed that where the old straw stacks have 



268 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

stood the new grain grows twice as stout as elsewhere, 
and adjoining the spots where the stable dumps are, 
the weeds grow ten feet high. So it's plain we're wast- 
ing valuable material for enriching the soil; and I've 
begun to put every bit of fertilizer this farm makes on 
the land. It's the common habit to cultivate all the land 
in sight even if you only half take care of it. We do the 
work any old way to get a crop, but I believe in fewer 
acres and better tillage." 

This farmer had a quarter section and took care of it 
with very little help except what he got from his children, 
and they were too young to do much. " I don't want to 
make pack-horses of them," said he. " It's natural for 
children to like play, and it ain't right to pin them down 
too close. One of my neighbors works at carpentry, 
and his little boys, ten and twelve years old, run the 
farm. Light tasks in moderation are all right, but the 
heavy work those boys have to do, and the responsi- 
bility will be apt to hurt them in growth and health and 
make 'em old before their time. There are cases, 
though, where the boys have to pitch into the work 
whether they're able to or not. My father was in that 
fix with his family. He got in with a skinner who 
skinned him out of all he had, and we were obliged to 
begin at the bottom. But I don't want my boys to work 
as hard as I did." 

I stayed at this farmer's to dinner. The house was 
small and flimsy, and they were planning to put up a 



A Dakota Paradise 269 

new dwelling soon, and it was to be nearer the road 
where they could see people passing. There was no 
cellar except a hole under the kitchen, to which access 
was gained by a trap door, and the three rooms were 
hopelessly overcrowded. 

"Are you a foreignor?" questioned the housewife 
when we were seated at the table. "You have a kind 
of brogue different from the people here in this country." 

"I'm from Massachusetts," I responded. 

"Why, yes," the woman commented, "now I think 
of it, you talk just like a lady from Boston who was 
visiting at our next neighbor's last summer." 

They were a cordial and hearty family, and though 
their surroundings were rather barren and primitive, 
I thoroughly enjoyed their acquaintance. In a few 
years more they would probably make many improve- 
ments in the home premises and would attain a pros- 
perity little, if any, short of wealth. 

Most of the villages in the valley are mere patches on 
the prairie, and you can look from the streets out on 
the farmlands in any direction. But Jimtown is large 
enough to spread over considerable territory, and its 
business blocks and better residence streets are begin- 
ning to have an air of substantial permanence. It is 
still, however, sufficiently rustic for most of its dwellers 
to own a cow or two. These are collected each morning 
in several herds and driven away in different directions 



270 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

to the outlying pasturage; and in the evening they are 
brought back and separate to go to their individual 
stables. 

The people are proud of the place. Indeed, it is a 
very miserable sort of a town in the West that the in- 
habitants are not proud of. As a rule they are ever 
ready to sing the praises of the town they have adopted 
and make a sort of fad of "boosting" it. "Yes," said 
one of the Jimtowners, "this is a lively place. We don't 
go to sleep in the daytime. It is the trading center for 
all the wealthy farm region around, and you can judge 
something of the value of the trade we get when I tell 
you that lots of the farmers bring their butter and eggs 
to town in thirty-five hundred dollar automobiles. The 
younger farmers, especially, not only make money but 
spend it like water. All the best shows stop here, and 
the farmers make up a considerable part of the audience 
at the opera house. To pay a dollar or a dollar and a 
half for a seat is just peanuts to these fellows. The 
older men go slower. They don't spend a great deal 
for pleasure, but when they have surplus money buy 
another quarter section. A great deal of land that they 
got a few years ago for ten dollars an acre is worth 
thirty now. When a man picks up coin like that with- 
out raising his hand it's comin' in hacks, and he's apt 
to get chesty and forget there ever was a time when he 
was poor. Prosperity has made quite a change in our 




b-^ 



A Dakota Paradise 271 

farmers. They don't work any more, unless you call 
it work doing everything riding around on machines." 

The remarks I have quoted were made by the pro- 
prietor of a barber's shop into whose place of business 
I wandered one evening. He was interrupted by an 
exclamation from a bald-headed customer whose 
bare cranium was being anointed with a hair restorer by 
the barber's assistant. " You're careless with that stuff," 
said the customer. " Don't let it run down over my 
forehead or I'll be like the dog-faced man in the circus. 
Last week a drop of it fell on my shoe, and I'll be 
dinged if that spot ain't all growed out thick with hair." 

A young fellow sitting in a chair tilted back against 
the wall reading a newspaper now looked up and re- 
marked: "That's about as big a story as those Bill 
Conroy tells. The other day he was saying that one 
time he was helping build a bridge across a canyon, 
high up above a river, and he was underneath hang- 
ing by his toes driving spikes when his watch dropped 
out of his pocket. He'd paid sixty dollars for it, 
and it was too valuable to lose. So he let go with his 
toes, and down he went so fast that he overtook the 
watch and grabbed it just as it was going into the 
water." 

"Did you ever have any trouble with the Indians 
here ?" I inquired. 

"No," responded the barber. "When the whites 
come the Indians took to the tall timber. Our troubles 
were of another sort." 



272 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

"I first saw Jimtown in 1880," said the bald-headed 
man. " It was then just a Httle frontier settlement with- 
out a single building of brick. Homesteaders were 
locating in the region all around, and they lived in cheap 
shanties throwed together just as quick as they could 
put 'em up." 

"Well," interrupted the fellow with the newspaper, 
"there's a good many men yet who have a punk house, 
even though they've built a nice barn." 

"What is a punk house.?" I asked. 

"Oh, one that's tumbledown and unpainted," he 
replied. "Some men build a good barn and live in the 
granary until they get the money to put up a house." 

"Yes, there's makeshifts still," acknowleged the 
bald man; "but nothing like what there used to be. 
Often, the early houses were made of sod. To build 
one a man would plough up the turf, turning a furrow 
fourteen inches wide and four deep. Then with a spade 
he'd cut the strips of turf into two-feet lengths and 
build his house walls with the pieces just as if he was 
laying bricks. Usually he'd first put up a hut of boards 
and make his walls of sod right around against the sides 
of it; but some got along with turf only. You couldn't 
have a warmer house, and if well made it would last a 
dozen years. But of course the roots that held the 
sod together soon decayed, and if the roof leaked or 
the wall got jammed the house would go to pieces in 
a very short time. 



A Dakota Paradise 273 

"However, we'd been willing to worry along in any 
sort of a house if the crops had been all right. What 
troubled us was the weather. For several years there 
was such a lack of rain everything dried up; or we'd 
get hot winds with a little hail mixed in with 'em occa- 
sionally that would spoil all our hopes. I've seen the 
wheat looking prosperous and nice as could be, with 
the heads forming, and in a week later it would be just 
burnt up. If those hot winds came, goodby to your 
crop. The air was like an oven. It would scorch you 
almost. One year I had a hundred and twenty-five 
acres of oats that averaged two bushels to the acre, and 
three hundred acres of wheat that only panned out 
fifty bushels in all, and a hundred and forty acres of 
flax that yielded sixty bushels of dirt and flax, and 
probably two-thirds of it was dirt. After three such 
seasons in succession we was in bad shape; and the 
town merchants was hit pretty hard, too. The farmers 
couldn't buy, and they couldn't pay their old debts. 
They simply had to be tided over by the merchants till 
they could get the money out of the ground. If the 
crops had been good we wouldn't have had our noses 
rubbing on the grindstone, but would have been looking 
skyward. Some farmers didn't have a dollar to buy 
seed, and they could only mortgage all they hadn't 
mortgaged before and pinch along hoping the next year 
would be better. Meanwhile they'd perhaps live 
mainly on potatoes and turnips, with now and then a 
quarter's worth of flour as a luxury." 



274 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

"You can't tell me anything new about that," said 
the barber. "My folks stayed here through bad season 
after bad season until all our front teeth dropped out. 
The drouth and the interest made a team you couldn't 
buck at all. People had to borrow, and the money 
sharks could get their own price. We paid three per 
cent, a month on four thousand dollars. I told my 
father he might just as well lay down and put his heels 
up in the air; but he hated to give up that farm. The 
soil was as black as your hat and not a pebble in it. 

"There's a good deal of such land in this country, 
but we have other sorts, too. Once in a while you find 
gumbo, and if it's dry and you strike a regular patch of 
it while you're ploughing, the plough will jump right 
up in the air. If it's wet the sun soon drys what your 
plough tips over into chunks that are as hard as paving 
bricks. Then there's clay soil — Gee whiz! you walk 
through that in the spring, and your shoes will gather 
it up till they're three feet across. It's fierce, ain't it, 
Seth V and the barber turned to the young man with 
the newspaper. 

"I wouldn't live on a farm if you'd give me one," 
Seth responded. "It's too lonesome. The neighbors 
are a mile apart — yes, all of that. Besides, the winters 
are too cold, and the roads get too drifted. After a 
snowstorm, if the wind blows, you want to get under 
cover. How it will stack the snow up! I've been on 
top of drifts so high I could touch the telegraph lines." 



-^ 




Advising the hoys 



A Dakota Paradise 275 

"Snowdrifts^ — why here's where we raise 'em," de- 
clared the barber; "and it's one beauty of this country 
that you don't have to buy coal but eleven months in 
the year. The other month you sift ashes or sit around 
with your overcoat on. I've seen the mercury take such 
a drop that we had to hook three thermometers together, 
one below the other, to get the record. Someone im- 
ported a Klondike thermometer, but it froze to death. 
It couldn't live here at all. Yes, at times it's so cold we 
have to go outdoors backward. If you try to walk out 
straight ahead your breath freezes in front of you in a 
solid mass that brings you to a standstill. Thirty 
degrees below zero is nothing here. We go around all 
day and never mind it. The wind doesn't blow at such 
times; it seems to be frozen up. Of course, during the 
cold season, this ain't no summer resort nor anything 
like that, but the freezing point in the damp atmos- 
phere of Chicago is worse than zero in our dry air." 

"It's one blessing of our summer that we always 
have cool evenings," observed the bald man. "You 
can take pretty near the hottest day, and you need a 
blanket over you at night. That's where we've got the 
world beat. A man can't get a really beneficial rest 
reeking with sweat and with no air to breathe." 

"How about mosquitoes .f"' I asked. 

"We have a good many in a wet season," said the 
barber. "Some of 'em seem to be about the size of a 
canary, and they come around and present their bill 



276 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

most any time of day. They don't bother us much in 
the town; but oh, golly! you find 'em good and thick 
in any swamp you happen to strike." 

"This is fine country for prairie chickens," remarked 
Seth, "and hunters come from everywhere to shoot 
them. On the first day of September, when the season 
opens, every rig in town goes to the prairies, and the 
teams have all been spoken for over a month before. 
A nice fried prairie chicken is something worth talking 
about. It's a far greater delicacy than any farmyard 
fowl. The wild flavor just suits me. But the birds are 
getting shyer and shyer, so you can't do much success- 
ful shooting without a well-trained dog. Later in the 
fall the wild ducks and geese come here to get the rice 
that grows in the shallows of the ponds and lakes. They 
go over the town in such big flocks that the air is some- 
times fairly blue with them. In the evening the electric 
lights seem to disconcert 'em, and you can see 'em 
wheeling about up there in the sky and hear 'em honk- 
ing and quacking." 

While we were talking a shower came up, and the 
bald man said, "Tomorrow's Saturday — I hope it 
won't rain then because that's the farmers' day to come 
to town and get supplies." 

"And I hope it won't rain Sunday or Monday," said 
Seth, "because those are the days for baseball." 

"I suppose they don't play ball much on Sunday 
back in the East," observed the barber; "but in our 



A Dakota Paradise 277 

towns here we have a Sunday game almost every week 
from spring to fall; and I'd like to have you explain to 
me what there is in a ball game to drive a man to hell. 
Those people that prefer to rest, let 'em get up in the 
attic and stay there; but if others want to chase a pewee 
around, that's their business. A man who has to work 
all the week likes a little recreation on Sunday; and if 
it suits him to take in a ball game or go shooting gophers 
he ought to have his say about it, instead of being told 
by the preacher when to head in. The folks that prefer 
to go to church — let 'em; but there's just enough mule 
about all of us so if you go to forcing things we back up. 
The churches have a pretty fair attendance except in 
summer, when the outdoor attractions thin the numbers 
down a good deal." 

"Some things could be improved," said the bald 
man; "and yet, take it as a whole. North Dakota is 
about as good a place to live in as you can find. One 
of its good points is state prohibition. You cross our 
boundary line into the license states and see the differ- 
ence. The license towns are rougher and dirtier than 
our towns every time, and have more loafers and law- 
lessness. I tell you the open saloon makes the road to 
drunkenness and poverty and crime wide and easy. 
The saloons and their low hangers-on don't have the 
best corners on our streets, but if they exist at all slink 
off into the byways. The law don't absolutely stop 
liquor-drinking any more than our laws against stealing 



278 Highways and Byways of the Rocky Mountains 

or other crimes entirely succeed in their purpose. Our 
confirmed topers have Hquor sent to 'em from outside 
of the state, or buy it at the drugstores and guzzle on 
the quiet." 

"Yes, that's straight," commented the barber, "they 
can always manage to get it; but there's very much less 
drank than there would be under license, and that is a 
big help in making our towns clean and safe and thrifty. 
The greatest gain though, is for the young men, because 
the temptation for them to begin drinking is so slight. 
I wouldn't want to bring up a family of boys 
anywhere else." 

The rain was now falling in torrents, and at frequent 
intervals there was a sudden crash of thunder. Seth 
went to the door and looked out. " Well, I must be 
going," he remarked, as he buttoned his coat about him 
and turned up his collar. 

"Where's your umbrella ?" inquired the barber. 

"That reminds me of a story," responded Seth. "A 
little boy went to church one rainy Sunday and the 
minister asked him why he didn't carry an umbrella; 
and the boy said, 'Ours are all worn out. Pa don't 
bring home any more umbrellas since he quit goin' 
to church.'" 

The weather was so showery and the roads so muddy 
while I was at Jimtown that the farmers were not riding 
around in their automobiles. "But there's plenty of 
'em," I was assured. "It only takes one or two good 




DiiriJeliotn 



A Dakota Paradise 279 

crops to set the farmers right on their feet. Last year 
they didn't do as well as usual — only raised fifty bushels 
of wheat to the acre, and of course they felt terribly 
abused; but if we get a big harvest this year things will 
be just booming again. Oh, they make their pile easy, 
and live on the fat of the land." 

They have the means to travel if they choose, and 
some of them go to California to spend the winter. 
Nor were conditions in the Jim Valley at all exceptional. 
Prosperity was general throughout the state. All this 
country is still youthful. Man has not labored long 
enough there to thoroughly humanize it, and often you 
continue to find a savor of the desert or wilderness. It 
may never have quite the charm of the well-watered 
Eastern regions; but mellowness and repose will come 
with age, more care will be bestowed on the homes, and 
the long broad slope between the Rocky Mountains 
and the Mississippi River which includes North Dakota 
is destined to be in most ways an ideal farming section 
that for extent and fertility will be unrivalled the world 
over. 

Note. — ^To see the thriving farm country of North Dakota to ad- 
vantage anyone would do well to visit the James River Valley as I did; 
but there are other sections just as good. Perhaps the best of all is the 
basin of the Red River on the eastern borders of the state. The country 
is too monotonously level to have much scenic attraction, but the gen- 
eral prosperity and the evident rich productiveness of the farms to a 
large degree make up for this lack and fill even the stranger and sight- 
seer with satisfaction. 



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With 16 illustrations in color by Mr. Nelson Dawson, 
and j6 reproductions of great pictures 
Cloth, 8vo, $1.75 net 
"Mr. Lucas describes London in a style that is always enter- 
taining, surprisingly like Andrew Lang's, full of unexpected sug- 
gestions and points of view, so that one who knows London well 
will hereafter look on it with changed eyes, and one who has only 
a bowing acquaintance will feel that he has suddenly become 
intimate." — The Nation 

A Wanderer in Holland 

With 20 illustrations in color by Herbert Marshall, besides 
many reproductions of the masterpieces of Dutch Painters 

Cloth, 8vo, $2.00 net 
"It is not very easy to point out the merits which make this 
volume immeasurably superior to nine-tenths of the books of 
travel that are offered the public from time to time. Perhaps it 
is to be traced to the fact that Mr. Lucas is an intellectual loiterer 
rather than a keen-eyed reporter, eager to catch a train for the 
next stopping-place. It is also to be found partially in the fact 
that the author is so much in love with the artistic life of Holland." 

— Globe Democrat, St. Louis 
"It is hard to imagine a pleasanter book of its kind." 

—Courier-'Journal, Louisville 

A Wanderer in Paris 

Fully illustrated with color reproductions of paintings and 

with halftones from photographs 

Cloth. 12nio, $1.75 net 

"Mr. Lucas has tv/o outstanding qualities — his pleasing 

personality, which gives grace and perfume to his style, and his 

discriminating flair for the best in other men's books, which has 

produced his excellent anthologies. These two qualities set 'A 

Wanderer in Paris' apart from other works of the kind and make 

it a worthy representative of the author's powers." 

— Chicago Record-Herald 
PUBLISHED BY 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

SIXTY-FOUR AND SIXTY-SIX FIFTH AVENUE NEW YORK 



20 19T0 



One copy del. to Cat. Div, 



OCT 20 1910 



